


the more things change (the more they stay the same)

by subliminally



Series: magnum opus [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Meddling Dumbledore, Slytherin Harry Potter, relationships are later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-04-01 04:59:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 54,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13990965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subliminally/pseuds/subliminally
Summary: a retelling in which harry potter, and by extension, the wizarding world, are very different and yet exactly as they always were.





	1. back to square one

**Author's Note:**

> the beginning of a terribly overthought of an au that has been in the works for an entire year. are you proud of me, mom?  
> this story was proofread many times across its many incarnations, but unfortunately i made some last-minute changes. any remaining mistakes are my own and i'd appreciate being notified of them so i can fix them and pretend that they never happened at all.  
> i hope you love this as much as i've loved writing it, or hate it as much as i've hated writing it. or perhaps both.
> 
> in this chapter: an orphan gets a letter (i wonder who it's from)

* * *

_HARRY JAMES POTTER_

_THE CUPBOARD UNDER THE STAIRS_

_4 PRIVET DRIVE_

_LITTLE WHINGING_

_LW1 1NX_

* * *

 

**_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_ **

_Headmaster: Albus_ _P. W. B._ _Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class; Grand Sorc.; Chf. Warlock; Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_25 July 1991_

_Dear Mr. Harry Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! Congratulations on all of your hard work hitherto. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_As you make the exciting decision of a school to enrol within, parents are reminded that Hogwarts firmly supports the idea of accessible education for all young witches and wizards, and so does not require payment in the form of tuition or meal plans. Additionally, we understand that the cost of supplies can be steep, so scholarship forms to ease this burden are available upon request._

_We ask that Muggleborn children place their response within this envelope, as it will automatically send itself back to our Office of Admissions._

_Term begins on 2 September. We await your response by no later than 31 July._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress_

* * *

“A wizard,” Harry repeated, like an idiot.

“Yes.” Uncle Vernon spat, like a bigger idiot.

Dudley was looking between the two of them, eyes as wide as saucers, and Aunt Petunia was clutching her head like she always did when she felt a tension headache coming on. Harry had never understood her more than he did at that moment. The acceptance letter lay innocently on the coffee table.

“My parents were — wizards.”

Uncle Vernon managed to make a nod look so condescending that Harry was surprised _he_ wasn’t the wizard. “Famous ones. Fat lot of good it did, in the end.”

“Right. So now I’m going the same school they did to learn how to be… a good wizard?” He worried that he might have been in shock.

“No!” It seemed that Uncle Vernon had finally given up on being helpful instead of confrontational. He shrugged off his garishly green house robe and began lacing up his massive work shoes, his hands working more aggressively as he began to rant.

“None of ya’ freaks are good, boy, and it’d do ya’ well to remember that! We tried, Petunia and me, to whip that nonsense outta you, to make you a good kid like Dudley, but you were a lost cause! Nothing we did stopped you from becoming one of them monsters!

“Now you’re gonna go to that bloody school, and learn how to scare people, and turn ‘em into rats if they don’t listen! You’re gonna learn how to bully people into…”

_Turn people into rats?_ Harry completely tuned out Uncle Vernon’s ranting and contemplated the enormity of turning a real human being into a rat. He was not a scientist by any means, but even he knew those conservation laws, and he was quite sure that turning a (very big) person into a (very small) rat violated at least one of them.

Dudley made a choking noise somewhere to his left and he stopped musing. He could think on it more later.

“ … explosions! Savages, your kind are, complete savages! Don’t you dare come back from that damn school for as long as you can, boy! I don’t want you corrupting our Dudley, you understand me?” A big finger wagged itself in front of his face, part of a hand that had met Harry’s body for far more blows than his now-crumbling sanity was willing to acknowledge.

At Harry’s mindless nod, Uncle Vernon let himself out of the house, summer sunlight sneaking in from the opened front door.

_BANG!_

Harry seated himself heavily on the sofa. Dudley looked like he wanted to offer some silent company, but glanced at his mother’s face and settled on a shaky encouraging smile instead. Harry didn’t feel any better, really, but he still smiled back gratefully. He turned to Aunt Petunia now, trying to gauge her feelings.

Her face was pale and haunted in a way that made her appear much older than she really was, staring straight ahead while her mind seemed to be far away. She looked fragile.

“Did you and Dad always know about this?” asked Dudley before Harry could figure out what he wanted to say.

Aunt Petunia came back to life and banged her fist onto the glass coffee table, making both of them (and the acceptance letter) jump in the air. “Knew!”

_“Knew?”_ she shrieked again, face thunderous. “Of course I know! Hardly had a choice about it, did I, with my sister rubbing it in my face every chance she got? She got a letter just like that and went scampering off to that wretched school, and came back every vacation turning bottle caps into snakes and — and — _mocking_ me with that stupid grin of hers! I put _real_ effort into school and made top of the class every semester, but all dear Lily had to do was make the dishes wash themselves and our mother and father were ecstatic!”

She turned that cruel expression onto Harry, who felt himself freeze. She had been waiting to say this for a very long time and not even Dudley’s frightened face was going to stop her now.

“She hated your father for a long time, you know. For the first few years, she would always come back yelling about how awful he and his little gang were to her creepy friend from Spinner’s End. Then she comes back one summer and she hates that friend, and it’s all talk about how James Potter’s _changed_ and how they were _meant_ for each other. As if she expected anyone to seriously believe that his money had nothing to do with it! He couldn’t take no for an answer for over five years; who would actually _want_ someone like that?

“They ran off to get married and have you before the ink on their graduation certificate had dried! Bully for her — literally — except then she went and got her nose too deep into that world’s business and Potter got the both of them killed, but you just had to survive! Not my sister, but _you!”_

Aunt Petunia dropped her head and took several deep breaths, her fist clenching and unclenching on top of the glass. “Then we got stuck with you. Couldn’t very well leave you to one of those wizards — not that they would have let me refuse if I wanted to. We knew you were just like them, but we hoped…” She shook her head, letting the thought go unfinished.

“Come on, Dudley,” she said instead, all of the rage drained out of her at once. “Let’s go get some ice cream, yeah?”

Dudley was clearly too scared of setting her off again to refuse. The two of them quickly put on their shoes and left the house without another glance in Harry’s direction, leaving him to his own devices. He threw himself flat on his back, stared at the ceiling, and thought.

For as long as he could remember, he had been a freak who lived in a cupboard under his Aunt and Uncle’s stairs. He was okay with that, but being told that he was a wizard suddenly made his living situation seem a lot less manageable. He didn’t think that there was a single wizard who had to cook, clean, weed gardens, and hide injuries from their teachers; would he be able to hide it from a wizard?

Then there was everything that Aunt Petunia had just said. He wasn’t surprised that she both hated and cared for him; Uncle Vernon was always less violent with him when she was in the house, but she still allowed it to happen in the first place. Of course, he didn’t trust her to tell the truth about his parents’ characters, resentful as she was, but she didn’t have a reason to lie about how they’d died.

Did he want to risk entering a dangerous, unfamiliar world just to escape the Dursleys?

He grabbed a piece of paper and a pen.

* * *

_Dear Deputy Headmistress McGonagall,_

_I have recently received the news of my acceptance into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. While I would be honoured to accept your generous offer of attendance, I have two requests:_

 

  1. __I’d greatly appreciate directions to the nearest stores to purchase my school equipment. I live outside of the magical world, so I don't know where to get any of it.__
  2. _I’d like copies of the scholarship forms for books and equipment, if at all possible._



 

_Once both of those requests are handled, I will happily be prepared for classes on 2 September. Please address the next letter to 4 Privet Drive instead of our cupboard._

_Kind Regards,_

_Harry J. Potter_

* * *

True to its word, the envelope resealed itself and flew out of his hands immediately after he put his letter inside, the address fading into _DEP. HEADMISTRESS MINERVA MCGONAGALL, HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_ . He watched it disappear with a pop _,_ then set about distracting himself while awaiting a reply.

For several hours, the Dursleys did not return. They usually came home by this time demanding that Harry cook whatever they wanted, so it was odd to have the house to himself. Their absence allowed Harry to make what _he_ wanted for once. He grated cheese, cooked pasta, and minced garlic in the comfortable silence of the kitchen.

He almost dropped the paring knife when the letter blinked into existence, delicately placed next to the kitchen sink. He quickly rinsed his hands so he could read it. It was addressed to 4 Privet Drive this time, as requested.

* * *

_Mr. Harry Potter,_

_Thank you for your prompt response. A representative for Hogwarts will arrive at 4 Privet Drive next Tuesday, 31 July, at approximately noon. The representative will take you to obtain your school supplies and answer any questions you may have about Hogwarts._

_Sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress_

* * *

There was no scholarship form and the envelope did not blink out of existence when he wrote a response to ask about them. Harry frowned, then went back to his make sure his alfredo sauce wasn’t burning. There was no chance that the Dursleys would pay for his books, so he supposed that he would just have to have an awkward conversation with the Hogwarts representative on his birthday. He really hoped they would be nice; he didn’t want to deal with a rude person on top of his embarrassment about his money problems.


	2. field trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is where the differences between this world and canon start to become super obvious. i swear the malfoys are the way that they are for a REASON. my google drive is in pain with all this backstory. being meguca is suffering
> 
> in this chapter: harry goes to diagon alley with the grinch and meets a pretentious dork. money is confusing and ice cream is the great equaliser

Next Tuesday arrived with the speed of all major life events, which meant that Harry blinked twice and found himself freshly eleven years old and answering the doorbell for an honest-to-god witch or wizard.

The Dursleys had made themselves scarce ever since The Letter (capital T, capital L), with the exception of a hushed conversation with Dudley while his parents had their own conversation about Harry. It seemed that they’d wanted to enjoy the summer as far away from their own home as possible. This was just as well to Harry, who had been taking advantage of their absence by lounging in front of the windows to sketch and paint in natural lighting for once.

As he opened the door, he found that the stranger was obscuring the sun. He looked to be around Aunt Petunia’s age and was wearing something black with green stitching, sort of like a cape put together with a turtleneck, but nicer-looking, and a pair of black trousers. His face was uncovered, revealing severe features and a hooked nose on a pale face that was framed by shiny and wispy shoulder-length hair. His eyes were hard and tired.

Harry quietly led the man into the living room, gesturing for him to sit with hands that only slightly wobbled. He was terribly nervous.

“Hello, sir,” Harry said as calmly and respectfully as he could. He had a lot of practise with that, so it sounded fine to him. “You’re from Hogwarts, then?”

The stranger gave him an odd, calculating look as he gracefully sat himself across from Harry. “Yes. Harry Potter, I presume?” He didn’t wait for a response. “My name is Professor Snape. The Headmaster has assigned me to accompany you to Diagon Alley for your school supplies, along with,” Professor Snape paused pointedly and looked down at Harry from his big, pointy nose. “Answering your questions.”

He managed to make such a simple sentence sound mocking and disdainful. Harry refrained from squirming. He felt an awful lot like an ant under a magnifying glass on a sunny day.

“Thank you, Professor Snape.” He really wanted to fidget, but Professor Snape seemed to be looking for weaknesses and Harry hadn’t survived this long without a strong sense of self-preservation, so he refused to give in.

He took a deep breath. “I don’t have the funds to pay for my books. I asked the Deputy Headmistress for scholarship forms, but she must have forgotten to send any in her response and I don’t know how to send letters to wizards.”

Professor Snape gazed pointedly at their surroundings, raising an eyebrow. The Dursley’s home was meticulously decorated so that everything, even Aunt Petunia’s horrendous fine china, looked classy and expensive. It would be hard to look at it, and the neighbourhood they lived in, and think that they weren’t well-off.

“Appearances can be deceiving,” he said, trying not to betray the dread he was feeling. They stared at each other intensely for several seconds, Harry’s breath lodged in his throat.

“They certainly can.” Professor Snape replied, then, to Harry’s relief, didn’t comment on the obvious. “Professor McGonagall did not enclose scholarship forms because you don’t need them. Your parents left you more than enough money in their vault.”

He pulled a stick out of his robes. It was a pretty nice stick. Probably a wand, now that Harry thought about it.

“I’m going to cast a glamour on your scar and transfigure your clothes into robes. Glamours are a type of charm that change the appearance of their target, while Transfiguration temporarily changes one object into another.”

“Or a person into a rat?” Harry asked. He was still wondering where Uncle Vernon got that from.

“Potentially, but Human Transfiguration is much more difficult.”

As he said this, he waved his wand in purposeful motions and Harry watched as Dudley’s hand-me-downs turned into deep blue robes with black stitching. The material was much softer than Dudley’s clothes were despite their odd appearance. The smell of fresh mint wafted in his nose like detergent. Harry blinked in amazement for a moment.

“Oh, _wow_. That’s so cool!” Harry could hear the sound of scientists screaming at the change, but he didn’t quite care anymore. Magic really was quite novel.

“Basic glamours and Transfigurations are far from impressive.” Professor Snape didn’t seem so scary anymore. Harry was beginning to think he was just a prickly person, not a dangerous one.

“If you’re quite finished fawning, it’s time for us to leave. You need to pick up your spending money from Gringotts.”

He led Harry out of the house, waited for him to lock it, and continued walking until they reached a secluded side street. Harry looked at him in confusion but Professor Snape waved his hand dismissively.

“Muggles, like the neighbours on your picturesque little street, are not allowed to see magic for reasons I’m sure you can infer. I am about to do something called Apparition and you will Side-Along.” He explained, “Apparition is… similar to teleportation, while Side-Along allows you to Apparate with me without having to use any magic on your own. I am going to hold onto you tightly to ensure that you don’t get injured.”

Harry nodded. It made as much sense as anything else had for the past week. “Does it hurt?”

“Excruciatingly.”

Harry was pretty sure that was sarcasm, but he didn’t get the chance to ask. Professor Snape wrapped his arms around Harry in a tight embrace, forcing Harry to partially hide his face in his dark robes (they also smelt of mint), and tapped his shoulder once in warning. Harry braced himself as the world went blurry.

At first, he felt fine. The world was twisting around him in a way that should never happen, but that was still consistent with the joke that Snape had made. But then it happened, and Professor Snape had not been joking.

Harry was in pain unlike any he’d ever experienced, even during Uncle Vernon’s worst fits of rage. His eyes ached as they were forced deeper into his skull, which also felt like it was being squeezed; his ears felt were full of cotton, picking up harsh windy noises as his surroundings continued to warp; his lungs felt like they had completely collapsed with his ribcage; his bones seemed to be cracking with the force that they were being grinded into each other —

And then he was free. Harry’s chest heaved in rapid breaths while he supported himself on Professor Snape’s arms and fought the urge to vomit or cry. “That was awful,” he stated instead, voice hoarse and thick.

His hand, stiffly, patted Harry’s head for a few moments. It was awkward, but kind.

“It will become more bearable with time. There are, of course, other ways to travel in the wizarding world, but Apparition was the fastest and most convenient for our purposes. Either way, welcome to Diagon Alley.”

Harry snapped around so fast that he felt a steadying hand rest on his back for support. That was just as well, because the Apparition still made him a little dizzy. It seemed that they had Apparated into a room with only large windows and glass doors, showing a crowd of people and shops like he’d seen on the telly. It reminded him of London.

“Is this room specifically for Apparition? If you just teleported — or, Apparated, I suppose — into the street, you could end up stuck to another person, right?”

“Correct, though the room is for convenience rather than safety — the distrait fools incapable of thinking of anything beyond their breathing patterns are not capable of Apparition to begin with. Apparition is heavily regulated, much like a Muggle motor vehicle.”

Harry still wasn’t sure how this room completely solved the problem. What if someone else Apparated to the same part of the room at the same time? Maybe there was a notification, like the headlights on a car?

He took Professor Snape’s hand as he walked out into the busy street. Professor Snape tensed for a moment and looked at their entwined hands, but didn’t comment. Harry didn’t notice though, because the fascinating bustle of Diagon Alley was too distracting.

Since it was a Tuesday, there weren’t enough people that it would cause him a panic attack. Harry’s steps bounced a little as he took in some of the shops’ adverts: Gambol and Japes Wizarding and Joke Shop had a hologram of a boy eating a lolly and growing elephant ears, Madam Primpernelle’s Beautifying Potions had a winking model that reminded him of the glossy cover of a magazine, Apothecary had a very large cauldron bubbling in a rainbow of colours…

“If you would deign to give it, your attention would be greatly appreciated, Mr. Potter.” drawled Professor Snape. Harry tore his eyes away and looked ahead. Gringotts Wizarding Bank.

It was intimidating, a large white building that loomed over the others and had a long-nosed person guarding it who was a head shorter than Harry, disproportionate, and utterly uninterested in either of them as they walked by. Honestly, Harry was quite sure that the being wasn’t actually human at all. The concept frightened him, so he concentrated on the engraving on the second set of doors.

_THOSE WHO TAKE BUT DO NOT EARN_

_WILL PAY MOST DEARLY IN THEIR TURN_

Harry was not at all calmed by the suspiciously vague threat, but Professor Snape didn’t seem to notice.

“Uh, Professor Snape, who runs this bank? They don’t look human.”

“I was not informed that my company would make such newsworthy observations. They are Goblins,” he replied distractedly, leading them into a grey marble hall. It surprisingly reminded Harry of a normal bank, besides the enormity and how expensive everything looked. There were more goblins here, all seeming to be up to whatever their job demanded of them. Some of them were dealing with other wizards, while a few had very large gemstones on scales. Harry wanted to ask about it, but didn’t know where to start.

Professor Snape approached the low counter and crouched only a little awkwardly to meet the employee’s eyes. “We’ve come to take a sum of Galleons from Harry Potter’s vault.” He slid a small bronze key out of his robes and onto the counter.

The goblin looked at them both, took the key, and stood up. It began shouting noises that Harry didn’t understand. He imagined it was Goblin language. Goblish? A few moments later, another goblin arrived and took the key from the teller. It gave them a blank, pleasant smile.

“Follow me, please.”

Harry pressed himself a bit closer to Professor Snape’s side as they followed the goblin into something that looked a bit like a trolley. They sat down and the goblin began to drive them impossibly fast around the maze of vaults. He kept track for the first handful turns, _left right left left left right_ , but that didn’t make sense when he thought about it, so he stopped bothering. He tried to calculate how many wizards there must be, to have so many vaults, but he couldn’t make a good guess with how fast they were going.

A few minutes later, they stopped in front of a vault with the number one hundred and thirty-three. Professor Snape clutched his stomach like he was going to be sick. Harry missed his snide remarks. The goblin just calmly unlocked the vault.

Gold, silver, and bronze filled the vault. Harry took a step back in shock; his parents had been _wealthy_. He was immensely grateful that the Dursleys hadn’t been able to take this money from him like they’d done with every other thing that wasn’t theirs to take. He fumbled for a moment before finding his wallet in his transfigured robes, prepared to take a bunch of coins, but he hesitated.

“So how does this money work? And what’s everything called?”

The goblin replied,  “Galleons, the gold ones, are worth the most. Seventeen Sickles, the silver, to a Galleon. Twenty-nine bronze Knuts to a Sickle.”

That did not answer Harry’s question. He still had no understanding of the strength of wizarding money, nor what gave it any value. Not that he completely understood how the British pound worked, either, but normal banks weren’t staffed by goblins. He was entitled to his questions. Still, he had bigger issues at the moment.

“Well, I need to buy my school supplies for Hogwarts, and maybe a new wardrobe. I haven’t a lot of nice… casual robes.” He meant to buy pants and trousers and shirts, rather than more fancy turtleneck-cape things, but he didn’t feel like explaining that. “Oh, and some regular spending money, too. I don’t know when I’ll be back here.”

The goblin grabbed some from each pile and put the coins in Harry’s wallet. “That should be enough.”

Harry thanked the goblin and piled back into the trolley with Professor Snape, who was still looking slightly pale as they zipped back to the main hall. Harry grabbed his hand again as soon as they got out.

“Why were my parents so rich?” Harry asked, looking at the shops again as Professor Snape led them down the street. He had seemingly shaken off his nausea and looked puzzled as he answered. He looked like that a lot, Harry noticed. Maybe it was just his face and Harry was being intolerant.

“The Potters were an old pureblood family, so they had quite a lot of money. Seeing as your mother was Muggleborn, I believe the majority of the gold, if not all of it, was James Potter’s.”

Professor Snape was tense as he talked about Harry’s parents. He wondered if maybe he had known them, but knew better than to ask right now. He frowned instead. He didn’t like the implications that a word like pureblood had impressed upon him.

“Muggleborn. Born to Muggles. Is that… bad, in this world?”

Professor Snape gave him an appraising look, then his lips twitched. Harry imagined it was the closest he’d ever get to a smile from the man. “Perceptiveness, even in unfamiliar surroundings, is a skill that one should always strive to develop. Yes, Mr. Potter, Muggleborns are regarded with disdain by a number of influential people in this world. Many would scorn you for being a half-blood if you were not the Boy Who Lived.”

Before he could ask what that even meant, which he really wanted to do, Professor Snape walked them into Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. A short witch with olive green robes and hair tied into an intricate updo welcomed them. She wore a nametag that said _Madam Malkin_ with a smiley face that changed expressions every few seconds. He instantly liked her.

“Hogwarts, dear? We can get you fitted right away.”

Madam Malkin began to lead the two of them to the back of the store, but Professor Snape stopped and turned to Harry.

“To make the best use of our time, I’m going to purchase everything besides your wand and familiar. You will likely finish here well before I do.”

Harry gave Professor Snape his wallet and spoke as he took however much he’d need for Harry’s supplies. “Okay, thanks. I think I’ll go to the ice cream parlour then. We can meet there when you’re finished.”

Professor Snape nodded, handed back Harry’s wallet, and disappeared with his robes billowing behind him. He looked ridiculous, but also super cool. Harry turned back to Madam Malkin and she continued to lead him to the fitting area. As they went, he told her that he needed a casual Muggle wardrobe too (and pants) and she smiled, telling him that she had it covered.

There was another boy getting fitted when they arrived. He was pale, paler than Professor Snape, with light blond hair and sharp features. He reminded Harry of the paintings of aristocrats that he sometimes saw in his history textbooks, but he offered a polite smile when he noticed Harry enter.

“Hello,” he greeted in a calm, measured tone. “Hogwarts, too?”

“Yes.” Harry obediently stood still as a robe was pulled over his head and pins began to pinch the fabric.

“My mother’s next door buying my books and my father is meeting us for dinner afterwards. The robe-fitting is quite a chore. I’m Draco Malfoy, by the way.”

“Harry,” he replied.

“It’s a pleasure, Harry.”

“Likewise.”

He spared Draco a quick glance during the ensuing (slightly awkward) silence. He had proper posture, but his fingers were tightly gripping his pressed trousers. He was nervous too, Harry realised. Draco wanted to make a good first impression, to make a new friend. It made him feel a lot better about this whole affair.

He hissed as one of the pins pricked his ribs, and the moment passed. The assistant apologised quickly before going back to her work and Draco went through Madam Malkin’s supply of gloves and pointed hats. Harry still couldn’t believe that wizards actually wore those things. He thought they looked pretty silly.

“So which House do you think you’ll be Sorted into?” asked Draco.

Not for the first time, Harry was confused. “House?”

“Yes, obviously. Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, or Hufflepuff?”

Harry still didn’t understand. “I’m sorry, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. I only found out that I was a wizard a week ago. I was raised by Muggles.”

After saying that, Harry immediately thought of the blood purity thing. What if Draco was like that? “Muggles? You’re a Muggleborn?”

Harry had stepped out of his fitting at the assistant’s suggestion and started picking up some gloves, a hat, and his winter cloak, but he stopped to look at Draco. It’d be unfortunate if he turned out to be prejudiced, but Harry would just have to take his leave if that was that case. “Would that be a problem?” he asked testily, eyes narrowed.

“No, no! It’s just… a lot of other people wouldn’t be happy to hear that. Not me though, I don’t mind. My family doesn’t care one whit about Muggleborns. My aunt is married to one, even!” Harry stared at him and the boy squirmed under the attention, but seemed honest enough. He shrugged.

“Okay. I’m not, anyway. My parents were both magical, but they died. The only people who could raise me were Muggles.” He frowned at the thought of the Dursleys.

“Oh. Then how did you get here? You couldn’t have taken yourself if you didn’t even know you were a wizard.”

Draco looked at the two cloaks that Harry was stuck between and grabbed the one with some kind of bird engraved on the fastenings, putting it in Harry’s shopping pile.

“They sent a professor to help. He’s getting most of my supplies while I get fitted here.”

“That’ll take an awfully long time. You’re already not too far from done as it is.”

Harry grabbed a pair of dragonhide gloves. Draco plucked them out of his hand and replaced them with a softer, more expensive pair.

“Well, I was going to get ice cream after.” He looked between Draco and his ridiculous new pointed hat, gathering his courage, then said, “We could go together, if you’d like.”

Draco gave him another smile, but this one was excited. “Ice cream does sound nice, if I’m honest. My mother will come with us.”

The two of them collected their purchases and paid. Harry still didn’t understand how wizard money worked, but that didn’t stop anything. The cashier cheerfully bagged his purchases and shrunk them to the size of oranges. He eyed the new clothes, hearing the whispered screams of long-dead scientists, then let out a slow breath and elected to stop thinking about it.

He only waited at a booth inside of Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour for a minute or two before Draco came in with his mother.

“Narcissa Malfoy.” Draco’s mother said, a perfectly manicured hand stretched out.

Her voice was clear pleasant like Draco’s, but decidedly more mature. She was very pretty, with long blonde hair the same shade as Draco and bright blue eyes. Her dress was pale blue and made of a stiff fabric, cutting off just below the knee. She looked just like the important and rich Muggles that he’d seen before.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I was rather pleased to hear that Draco had made a friend so quickly.”  
Harry tried to remember all of the fancy etiquette that Aunt Petunia had taught her family. He shook her hand as confidently as he could manage. “Harry Potter. It’s very nice to meet you too, Mrs. Malfoy.”

Oddly, Mrs. Malfoy let in a nearly inaudible breath and Draco gaped at him.

“You’re Harry Potter?” Draco’s voice was as shrill as a low tone could be, his breeding obviously keeping him from causing a scene. “Why didn’t you _say anything?”_ Frantically, Mrs. Malfoy sat her son down and attempted to silence him.

Harry really wished he had asked what the Boy-Who-Lived business was all about, because he had a sneaking suspicion that he was missing a very important part of his family’s life. As it was, he shrugged helplessly.

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about. The Potters were an old pureblood family, I know that, but I…” He sighed and shifted uncomfortably. “Draco, I told you that I had no idea I was a wizard until last week. That means that I know _nothing_ about this world, and I haven’t the slightest clue what my family’s done to draw that sort of reaction.”

Draco seemed to be trying his best to imitate a dying fish. Mrs. Malfoy, however, gave Harry a soft smile when he looked up morosely from his cotton candy ice cream.

“It’s surprising that you haven’t heard the tale yet, but I won’t regale it to you now. I’m sure that your Hogwarts escort will have no problem explaining it later. However, I do believe we have something much more important to say…”

Mrs. Malfoy paused — for dramatic effect, if the amusement in her eyes was any indication. Draco was still collecting himself, but looked at his mother in interest.

“Happy birthday, Harry.”

Harry grinned at her. “Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Yes, happy birthday.” Draco said agreeably, finally composed. "But _I_ believe that an explanation of the four Houses is equally important.” At Harry’s hum of assent, Draco’s hands danced around while he explained.

“Slytherin is the best house, of course; my family’s almost entirely been Slytherin. We’re the clever house, the masterminds, the string-pullers, so on. You understand. Ravenclaw isn’t bad either. They’re intelligent, with books or whatever they want to know, and they’re extremely competitive about it. Gryffindors have no sense of self-preservation and like to throw their bravery in people’s faces. Hufflepuff, though…”

Draco gave Harry such a significant look that he felt obligated to respond. “Hufflepuff is a terrible name. All of them are, really. _Hogwarts.”_ He shoved a gummy bear topping in his mouth so he wouldn’t have to say anything else.

Draco rolled his eyes without any heat. “Idiot. My cousin would have my head if she heard me, but Hufflepuff is the house for wizards with no power — Tonks as the exception, of course. If I got Sorted there, I’d drop out immediately. There’d be no hope!”

“Now, Draco…”

“Mother, it’s undeniable.” He made a show of eating some of his sorbet.

Mrs. Malfoy watched him, then gave in and smiled indulgently. This rather neatly disproved Harry’s theory that rich pureblood society was comparable to high class society in the Muggle world, which was very inconvenient. Maybe Mrs. Malfoy and her son were the exception?

Harry could have teased Draco about not actually explain any of the Houses, but it didn’t seem to be worth the effort. If anything, he’d been amused at fact that the ranting was made by somebody who’d never even been to Hogwarts before. No, Harry had important things of his own to discuss.

He took another bite of his ice cream and looked levelly at Narcissa Malfoy. She regarded him with equal calmness from her chocolate sundae.

“Mrs. Malfoy, how does wizard money work?”

* * *

 

Professor Snape returned while Harry was explaining ballpoint pens to an interested Mrs. Malfoy and Draco. Harry waved while Professor Snape raised an eyebrow. He had a stack of shrunken books levitating to the side of him, scaled-down equipment like Harry’s new cauldron balanced on top.

“Hello, Professor.” He gestured to the Malfoys. “This is Draco and Mrs. Malfoy. I met Draco at Madam Malkin’s and he decided to come for ice cream with me.”

To his surprise, Mrs. Malfoy let out a soft laugh. “No introduction is needed, Harry, but thank you. Severus Snape is a friend of the family. I didn’t know that you were his appointed guardian.” The last sentence was directed to Professor Snape, who was listening to Draco’s enthusiastic, if incorrect, explanation of Muggle credit cards. Draco silenced at once to let them talk, settling back into his seat.

“The Headmaster believes that he has a sense of humour.”

Mrs. Malfoy nodded. “His machinations get more elaborate by the day. Still, Harry is charming and more than intelligent enough company.”

Harry blushed. The levitated stack floated over to him and shrunk down to the same size as his clothing.

“I suppose the company has not been utterly abhorrent,” allowed Snape. “There are still the matters of an animal familiar and a wand, Mr. Potter.”

Harry nodded. “Right. Thank you for buying my stuff.” He inclined his head towards Draco and his mum. “And thank you both for sitting with me. I learnt a lot about the Wizarding world, even though I’ve the feeling that there’s still so much more to it all. I’ll see you at Hogwarts, then?”

“Of course.” Draco shook Harry’s hand and moved to his mother’s side to help her collect their purchases. “I’m looking forward to seeing which House you end up in. My bet’s on Ravenclaw, for the record. Bye, Harry. Goodbye, Uncle Severus.”


	3. you know what they say about wands and wizards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uploading these one by one is annoying, let me tell you.
> 
> in this chapter: harry fondles some sticks and ponders the meaning of it all. arabella figgs is the best woman this side of the atlantic

“She needs a name, sir.”

Professor Snape stared at Harry’s new snowy owl. She stared calmly back at him. He turned away. She hooted in victory. 

“A daunting task that I’m certain you will accomplish with time.” He tugged Harry by their joined hands when he got distracted by Gambol and Japes again.

“I guess.” 

Harry was still overwhelmed by the knowledge of how he — supposedly — killed Voldemort when he was still in nappies (Professor Snape told him not to call him by his name, but Harry thought the whole idea of talking around it was rubbish). Professor Snape had looked carefully blank the whole time he explained it too, so Harry was now certain that he had known James and Lily. But as much as he wanted to, he still didn’t ask about them. Instead, he focused on the fact that people genuinely thought that he was the Saviour of the Wizarding World for something he had no memory of doing.

He heard a jingle behind them as they walked into Ollivanders. It was narrow and crowded, the people outside casting odd shadows through the rounded windows, their thick curtains pulled back. The walls of the shop were stacked with piles and piles of dusty labelled boxes, wands of all sorts poking out from within them.

The shop owner, an old man with long white hair, was getting paid by a family with light brown hair. A girl Harry’s age excitedly waved her wand around. After they left, the owner turned his silver eyes to Harry and Professor Snape.

“Good afternoon.” The owner’s voice was soft, but his eyes were wild.

“Hello, Ollivander.” Professor Snape said, fingering a spot of dust with disapproving eyes.

Mr. Ollivander looked at Professor Snape like he was trying to remember something. “Severus Snape! Elm, eleven inches, hard flexibility, wasn’t it?” 

A tape measure floated into Harry’s view and started measuring his ears and nostrils. He still wasn’t thinking about it.

“But you! Harry Potter, I’ve been expecting you.” Harry wasn’t sure how Mr. Ollivander knew his name. Nobody else had recognised him yet.

“You have?” The tape measure tickled as it measured down the length of his right arm.

“Of course. I recognised you by your mother’s eyes. They’re just the same. Oh, I remember Lily Evans finding her wand like it was only yesterday. Ten and a quarter inches, made of willow, and swishy. Perfect for charms.”

He had never been told that he had his mother’s eyes. Professor Snape transfigured something into a comfortable-looking black chair and sat down while Mr. Ollivander began looking at the messy labels on his boxes, still talking.

“James Potter, though. He had a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A wand for someone talented in transfiguration. The wand picks the wizard, you know. Many wizards think it’s the other way around and get rather upset when their wand isn’t what they wanted.”

Mr. Ollivander came back to where Harry was standing and set a big box on the table. He waved his hand and the tape measure dropped onto the floor.

“Which is your wand arm, Mr. Potter?”

Harry felt stupid yet again. “I’m right-handed…?”

“Hold the wand with your right hand then. Just give it a little shake.” He pulled a wand out of the box and put it in Harry’s hand. “Cypress and unicorn hair. Ten inches. Whippy.”

Harry raised the wand a little, but Mr. Ollivander ripped it out of his hand.

“Ebony and dragon heartstring, nine inches, springy.”

This time Harry barely had it in his hand for five seconds before Mr. Ollivander replaced it with a new one.

“Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, supple.”

Harry managed to get sparks out of this one, bright red and gold fireworks, but it felt… wrong, somehow. Mr. Ollivander seemed to agree and shook his head, putting the wand back in the box.

This went on for a while. Hazel, maple, beech-wood, blackthorn, elm… Harry was tired of getting wands snatched from him. Mr. Ollivander, oddly, seemed more excited with each failure. The look in his eyes was even more wild than it had been before.

“You’re quite the tricky customer, Mr. Potter. Very particular. Don’t worry, we’ll find just the right one for you. In fact — and how curious this would be — redwood and phoenix feather, eleven inches, supple.” He poked his head out from the box and put the wand in Harry’s hand.

It warmed his fingers. He knew without, doing anything, that this would be his wand; it felt like an extension of his body. Harry raised his arm and brought it down with a sharp whoosh. Fireworks flew out of his wand like they had before, but in a rainbow of colours, illuminating every corner of the little shop. Harry grinned at them and Mr. Ollivander clapped merrily and cried, “Oh, lovely! A perfect match, I dare say. But very curious. Yes, very curious, indeed.”

“What’s curious, sir?” Harry asked while Mr. Ollivander wrapped the wand and put it into its box. Harry prepared to hear something terrible.

“I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Mr. Potter. The phoenix that gave me the feather in your wand only produced more feather. Just the one. I sold that wand today, too.” Mr. Ollivander winked. Harry didn’t know what to do with this information, so he paid the seven Galleons — the gold ones, he remembered — and left with Professor Snape.

It was late in the afternoon when they left Ollivanders. The buildings were illuminated by multicoloured lights and big displays, much more obvious now that the sun was lowering. Less wizards were walking around, so Professor Snape led Harry back to the Apparition room without difficulty.

Even the painful squeezing sensation (better than it had been the first time) of Side-Along wasn’t enough to stop Harry from thinking about the twin to his wand. He wondered if it was significant at all. Wouldn’t there be plenty of wizards who shared cores, if a phoenix only giving two feathers was remarkable? Did it mean that Harry and the mystery person were destined to meet? Were they soulmates? Long-lost twins?

“Oh, Harry!” a voice called out, ending Harry’s musings.

It was Mrs. Figg, one of his neighbours, with a bin bag in her hands and one of her cats at her feet. She was on pleasant terms with the Dursleys, so they allowed her to babysit Harry many times over the years. Instead of the torture sessions that they undoubtedly expected, all she did was chat enthusiastically with him about art and ask about his schoolwork. He thought she would make a good mother, but her husband had died in the military a few years before Harry was born and she didn’t seem inclined to move on.

“Hi, Mrs. Figg!” 

Harry walked over and started a bit when she hugged him tightly and laughed. Her brown hair was in its usual state of disarray and she smelt strongly of limes. She held onto him for a few more moments, then pulled back and grabbed both of his arms.

“Look at you! Got your letter from Hogwarts, I see.” Oblivious to Harry’s shock, she continued on. “It’s a bit selfish of me to say, but I’ll miss you when you’re over there. Play a few pranks for me, will you? I’ve always wanted to raise a little hell.”

He was painfully aware that he was gaping. “How — how do  _ you _ know about —”

Professor Snape cleared his throat. “As heartbreaking as it is to break up such a quaint scene of affection, I’m certain that all of this can wait until our business is attended to.”

“It must have taken a great deal of patience to be around him all day,” said Mrs. Figg, letting go of Harry’s arms and turning to face Snape.

“No more than it takes to perform my tasks as a Hogwarts professor.”

“I was talking to Harry, not you.” Mrs. Figg winked at him, said, “Bye, dear. Remember; you can never have too much fun,” and walked back into her house, her fluffy slippers squeaking with every step.

Professor Snape looked gobsmacked and Harry gave into the urge to snicker as they walked the rest of the way to the Dursleys’ front porch. He really liked Mrs. Figg.

He transfigured Harry’s robes back into Dudley’s hand-me-downs, removed the glamour on his scar, and placed an envelope in Harry’s hand.

“This is your train ticket to Hogwarts. Don’t lose it,” he warned, all business now. “Eleven o’clock on the thirty-first of August at King’s Cross Station. The platform is nine and three-quarters, located at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Walk, or run if you must, directly into the wall without fear, or you will crash into it. Believe that you will hit a wall, and you  _ will _ hit a wall. Do you understand?”

Harry nodded. He hoped that the Dursleys would drive him out to London.

“There is to be no practising magic at home, either. As tempting as it may seem, it is illegal. If there are any issues, you can send a letter to Hogwarts with your owl. Owls will find anyone you address a letter to, even if you don’t know where they are yourself. I will see you at the end of August, Mr. Potter.”

Professor Snape adjusted his robes and Harry gave him a hug. He stiffened, then awkwardly patted Harry’s back.

“Thank you,” Harry said. Professor Snape didn’t respond, but Harry didn’t expect him to. He let go and smiled up at him.

“Goodbye, Professor Snape.”

“Goodbye.”


	4. choo choo train

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wizard hats are dumb.
> 
> in this chapter: dudley gets deep. harry goes to hogwarts and makes some friends. kids do what kids do and emulate their parents' behaviour, to varying effects. a rat makes an appearance.

August with the Dursleys was not as bad as it could have been. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had no idea that Harry couldn’t cast magic at home (or in general), so they relocated him into Dudley’s second bedroom as soon as they noticed Harry’s school supplies. He and Dudley poured through the schoolbooks while Dudley’s parents made themselves scarce. They completely ignored him when they did see him, but it was better than the yelling and the hitting, so Harry didn’t complain.

His school books were fascinating. He and Dudley used one, _A History of Magic,_ to pick a name for his owl — Hedwig. The owl didn’t seem to care what her name was though, and flew in and out of the bedroom as she pleased. Dudley was particularly interested in the history and magical zoology books, his eyes wide as he took in the moving pictures. Harry honestly didn’t know what he was most interested in, so he read all of his books with great enthusiasm. It amazed him how all of it had been hidden so well from Muggles.

Dudley had been the one to tell Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia about King’s Cross, a fact of which Harry was immensely grateful. On his last night at Privet Drive, Harry packed his things and listened to the rustlings of outside life. He packed his personal books and art supplies first, then started on his clothes. He was folding up his winter cloak when Dudley walked in.

“Do you need any help?” Dudley asked around the lolly in his mouth.

Harry said yes and the two of them packed up the rest of his new clothes.

“I wish I could go with you.” Dudley admitted. “I can read the books with you, and I talk about how everything might work, but I can’t actually _do_ anything magical. I think that’s why my mum never liked yours. But I’m not gonna hate you for it, Harry. I don’t…” He bit his lip.

“I don’t wanna end up like Mum, or like Dad,” he whispered. “They’re always so angry and it makes them miserable.”

He shook off the melancholy thoughts and smiled weakly, but genuinely, at Harry. “I really want you to write though, if you can find a way to make sure that my parents don’t see. It’d be nice to hear about everything.”

“Of course I’ll write.” Harry agreed instantly. “I’ll read up on some privacy charms, or concealment charms, or something like that. But I’ll write, Dudley. At least once every two weeks. Once a week if I can come up with a really good charm. And… you’re not like your parents. I promise.”

“Thanks, Harry. I’m gonna miss you, but I’m glad you’ll be somewhere better than here.” Dudley dropped the pewter cauldron into the trunk.

Harry looked at his things. Hedwig was here tonight, lounging around happily as she ate. His Hogwarts books were only somewhat packed; his defence and herbology books were very obviously still on top of his bed, and his crystal phials were wrapped in newspaper inside of a box he had found lying around the house. Dudley had stuck sticky notes in all of his books, sometimes with helpful notes, other times with silly jokes or references. His pointed hat was on Dudley’s head, looking very out of place when he was still in his pyjamas.

“Yeah, me too.”

* * *

 Harry piled into an empty compartment near the end of the Hogwarts Express, setting Hedwig’s cage next to him. There had been a lot of people talking at the platform (and he had been absolutely astonished to find out that it really _was_ all hidden by nothing more than a fake wall), families saying their goodbyes and kids yelling at each other in excitement. Rather than stand there and have a panic attack, Harry had contented himself with avoiding contact with other people as effectively as possible.

He spent a while drawing in his sketchbook before the whistle for the train blew and they started to move. He looked out of his compartment’s window and watched as the faces on the platform began to get smaller. One redheaded girl tripped as she raced to follow the train, her arms waving wildly and a broad grin splitting her face in two. The Muggles in the crowd were easily visible by their clothing, all of them waving just as rapidly and many of them brushing away tears.

He felt anticipation bubbling in his chest. He had no idea what Hogwarts would be like, but he had hope. He wouldn’t be at Privet Drive for what seemed like forever, and he’d be practising _magic_. Hogwarts would have to work hard to get him to hate it.

“Anyone sitting here?” A voice asked. Harry jumped and saw a tall redheaded boy at the door. “Everywhere else is full.”

Harry shook his head and the boy sat across from him. He had a black mark on his nose, he noticed, as the boy leant over to peer at his sketchbook.

“Wow, you’re really good. How did you make that look so loopy?”

He looked back down at his drawing. It was a sketch of the compartment. “Thank you. It’s something called a continuous line drawing. Basically, you draw without picking your biro off of the paper — or your quill, I suppose. But I imagine that’s why it looks loopy. It’s a little hard to draw like that, but I like how it turns out when you do it right.”

“Well, it’s really good!” He repeated. “I’m Ron. Ron Weasley.”

Ron stuck his hand out and Harry shook it.

“I’m Harry. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Harry what?” he prodded.

Harry had purposely avoided sharing his last name. He floundered for a moment.

“Uh, Harry Dursley.”

“So you’re Muggleborn, then?”

He nodded. It was… sort of true.

“What about you? Is your whole family magical?” He asked, in part because he was genuinely curious and in part because he wanted to change the subject.

“Oh! Yeah, we are. I’ve five brothers and a sister and we’re all magical. We’re one of the oldest pureblood families, actually. I think my mum has a cousin who’s an… accountant? Something like that, in the Muggle world, but I don’t know for sure. We don’t ever talk about him.”

He thought, privately, that it might have something to do with the Muggle hatred thing.

“I’m the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts.” Ron continued, looking out the window with a bitter expression. “There’s a lot to live up to. Bill was Head Boy, Charlie was Captain of the Quidditch team, now Percy’s a Prefect… He’s in the front of the train with the other ones. Being a Prefect’s a big deal, Harry. Fred and George aren’t, and they mess around a lot, but they still get good marks and they’re funny.

“I’m supposed to do as well as the rest of them, but even if I do, it’s no big deal because it’s all been _done_ already. Nothing’s new or special when you have five brothers. My robes are Bill’s old ones, I have Charlie’s old wand, and even my rat is Percy’s!”

Ron pulled an ugly, fat rat out from his robes. It looked dead, but it was probably asleep. Hopefully.

“His name’s Scabbers and he’s completely useless. Percy got an owl for becoming a Prefect, but I —” He cut himself off and kicked his legs around sadly.

Harry didn’t know how to address Ron’s insecurities, nor did he think that he’d be able to make a difference in the long run. Anything meaningful that he could say would seem hollow when coming from a stranger, so he decided on something silly.

“Maybe he’s a rat that used to be a person. That’d be pretty cool.”

Ron looked confused, but not sad anymore. Harry took it as a victory. “What, like an Animagus? That’d be weird. I don’t know if anybody would want to live like a pet for that long — Percy’s had him a long time. They have to register with the Ministry anyway.”

Harry thought it was pretty naïve of Ron to think that people didn’t break the law. He clearly didn’t watch crime shows like Harry sometimes did when the Dursleys were out. Worse, it was possible that there weren’t any crime shows to watch. He allowed himself the moment of disappointment, then moved on.

“Then maybe he was _turned into_ a rat. The person who did it just never turned him back, so now he has to live like that for the rest of his life.”

That drew a little laugh from Ron. “There are worse ways to live, I think. He’s been spoilt rotten with all of us taking care of him. That’s why he’s so fat.”

“That’s probably true.” He paused, then asked something that had been bothering him. “What’s Quidditch, by the way?”

Ron brightened up like a kid on Christmas. “Right, Muggles don’t have it! It’s not much besides _the best game in the entire world.”_

He really came alive as he spoke about Quidditch, telling Harry about the four balls, the Snitch, the positions, and the games he had been to with his family. He was explaining some of the tactics, like the Sloth Grip Roll and the Starfish and Stick, when the compartment door opened again to reveal a familiar face.

“Could it be the famous Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World? I’m in desperate need of rescuing from the evil clutches of social niceties and unintelligent company.” Draco looked a touch tired, but overall in good spirits. Harry felt even more at-ease knowing that he was there.

“Oh, anything for you, Mister Draco Malfoy, local Hogwarts expert,” he replied in the same teasing tone, smiling at him. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Ron gasped and looked accusingly at Harry, who immediately cringed in realisation.

“Harry Potter? You said you were a Muggleborn!”

“Erm, well, I… didn’t want the attention?” Harry managed to stammer. “Please don’t make a big deal out of it! It’s not that important.”

“What — not that — you are _Harry bloody Potter!_ And you’re friends with Draco Malfoy?" Ron’s arms flailed wildly. _“Malfoy?”_

“For Merlin’s sake, Weasley, shut up before you make a spectacle of yourself.” Draco spat. They seemed equally irritated about the other’s presence.

Draco walked over to Harry’s side of the compartment and sat down, locked in a stare down with Ron the entire time. Not for the first time, he wanted to be anyone else.

Ron’s expression was pleading as he turned his eyes back on Harry. “Harry, maybe you don’t know this, but Malfoy’s family were some of the first to come back to our side after _You-Know-Who_ disappeared. Said they were under an Unforgivable, the Imperius Curse, but my dad doesn’t believe it. He says that Malfoy’s father didn’t need an excuse to go to the Dark side. They’re a bad lot —”

“Shut your mouth, Weasley! You don’t know anything about my father!” Draco yelled, his posture stiff and confrontational.

Harry was not naïve and he knew a decision when he needed to make one, but it wasn’t much of one; Draco was in a similar sort of situation as Dudley, so he wouldn’t be abandoning him any time soon.

“You shouldn’t judge someone based off of what their parents do, Ron,” he started before they could argue in earnest. He kept his voice calm and non-confrontational. “If you’re going to hate someone for things that they had no control over, which is _gossip_ anyway, I would rather not talk to you.”

Ron stared at him, eyes wide and surprised, but his mouth was shut. He had clearly not been expecting this, and neither had Draco. Harry could feel his amazed gaze from his side.

“You’ve been nice to me, and I like you, but I can’t talk to you if you’re going to be mean to my friends.”

Ron gave him a pleading look, searching his eyes for something that he didn’t seem to find. With a deep frown, he stood up from his seat. Harry was disappointed, but stuck to his choice. It was for the best.

“He’ll be a bad influence on you.” Ron said from the doorframe. “He’ll teach you the same messed up things his family taught him, and if you don’t listen, he’ll just betray you.”

“Bye, Ron.” Harry replied. This wasn’t going anywhere good. “I hope we can be friends someday.”

The compartment door shut with a low click. Draco shifted for a few moments.

“Thanks for… that.” He threw a hand up to encompass the scene that just happened. “I don’t like him, but I didn’t want to make you pick sides.”

“It’s okay,” he replied. “He would’ve said something like that eventually. About someone else, maybe. Then the same thing would have happened.”

They sat quietly for a few minutes. A dimpled woman came by with a trolley and asked if they wanted any sweets. Harry didn’t know about wizard sweets, so he let Draco pick some for him. He had Cauldron Cakes, Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pastries, Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum, and some others that looked like Muggle things. Draco took a big bite out of a chocolate bar.

“I’m not my father.” Draco declared. “And the situation with my father is a lot more complicated than he made it seem. Count on the Weasleys to see everything in black and white.”

Harry looked up from his inspection of the sweets. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Before Draco could respond, the compartment opened up again. There was a dark-skinned girl with thick brown hair and a small, nervous-looking brunet boy standing next to her. The girl was already in her Hogwarts robes. Harry wondered if getting interrupted was going to be a common occurrence for him.

“Have either of you seen a toad?” the girl asked. She had a bossy, no-nonsense kind of voice. “Neville’s lost his.”

“No.” Draco responded, and turned back to his chocolate bar. Harry rolled his eyes.

“Have you asked a Prefect?” he asked.

The girl turned her eyes to him. “We don’t know where they are. Do you?”

Harry thought about Ron and realised that he did. “Yes. They have two compartments to themselves, up at the front. They should be able to cast some kind of Summoning charm to get the toad back, I think.”

The boy — Harry was assuming he was Neville — brightened up a bit at that.

“That makes sense, thank you. Would you like to come with us?” he asked shyly. Neville didn’t seem very confident in general, not just because he had lost his toad.

Harry looked at Draco, who caught his eye and sighed a deep, long-suffering kind of sigh.

“Oh alright, _fine_. Yes, we’ll come find your bloody toad. Do you even know what year it is, having a toad as a familiar?”

When Neville didn’t seem inclined to reply, Draco pulled Harry out of his seat and they followed the two of them up the length of the train.

“I’m Hermione, by the way,” Hermione said. “Who are you?”

“I’m Draco and this is Harry,” Draco replied. Harry was grateful that he hadn’t said his last name, which he was sure was on purpose.

“Nice to meet you both. Which House do you think you’ll end up in? I’m hoping for Gryffindor; I read that Dumbledore himself was in it! But Ravenclaw doesn’t sound bad either.”

Draco seemed to have given himself the role of Harry’s spokesman, but he had no objections. “I’m going to be in Slytherin like the rest of my family. Harry’s a mystery, but I think he’ll end up in Ravenclaw.”

Hermione nodded, as if Draco was requesting for her approval of their Sorting guesses (he wasn’t). Soon though, they ended up at the Prefects’ area. Hermione confidently knocked on the door, which opened to another redhead. He looked a lot like Ron, if more put-together, so he thought it was Percy Weasley.

“Hello,” Hermione greeted in a professional, adult voice. “My friend Neville has lost his toad. Would it be possible for you to use some sort of charm to retrieve it for him?”

Percy opened his mouth to reply, but caught sight of Draco at Harry’s side and ignored her request completely.

“A _Malfoy?"_  He put a lot more hatred into his words than Ron had. “A missing toad is the least of your problems if you’re deigning to hang around filth like that. The entire family is rotten.”

Draco looked like he was about to do something stupid, like hex a Prefect on the Hogwarts Express and get kicked out before stepping foot onto the campus, but he didn’t get the chance.

“Come on, Perc; they’re kids!”

A girl around Percy’s age with a Hufflepuff Prefect badge pushed past him and gave an apologetic smile to the four of them. Percy looked extremely displeased, but disappeared back into the room.

“I’m sorry about him. I’m Devin Praxis. One of you was looking for a toad?” Her hair was light brown in a messy ponytail and her eyes were hazel.

“Yes,” Neville responded. “Neville Longbottom, miss. My toad’s name is Trevor.”

She smiled at him and pulled out her wand. “ _Accio_ Neville Longbottom’s toad!”

Devin held out her hand and waited. After a few moments, a toad flew from hall and into her hand. She gently handed it to Neville.

“Trevor! T-Thank you so much!” he exclaimed, cradling his toad in his hands.

“No problem, Neville. You can come to me, any of you, if you ever need help. You can go to your House’s Prefects too, of course, but just in case!”

She went back into her compartment and the four of them, by unspoken agreement, went back to Harry and Draco’s.

“Gryffindors aren’t supposed to be like that.” Hermione said as they walked. She sounded disappointed. “I don’t understand why he was so rude.”

“Anybody can be like that, Hermione.” Harry couldn’t understand why she had judged an entire group of people. Well, he could, but to do it so quickly seemed impossible. “House colours have nothing to do with it.”

Hermione looked thoughtful and none of them said much else, besides Neville greeting some other students as they passed. The four of them piled into the compartment and Hermione settled next to Neville, who kept a cautionary eye on his toad as he ate some chocolate with Harry.

“So, I’m Muggleborn, and the Malfoys and Longbottoms are purebloods, but what about you?” She looked curiously at Harry, who bit down the urge to shout questions like, _Who cares about my bloody last name?_ and _Is it even worth it for me to try to have the tact to not mention my last name, if people are desperate to know regardless?_

“I’m a half-blood. My father was part of a pureblood line and my mother was Muggleborn.” He read his chocolate frog card while Albus Dumbledore waved at him.

* * *

 

_ALBUS DUMBLEDORE_

_CURRENT HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS_

_Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, and his work on Alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and ten-pin bowling._

* * *

 

“Which line?” Hermione prodded further.

Harry gritted his teeth and set his card down. “The Potters.”

"Potters… _Harry_ Potter? Really?" Hermione and Neville looked even more interested than they had been before. "I read all about you — I picked up a few extra books while getting my school supplies. You're in _Modern Magical History_ , and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ , and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century!"_

"Am I?" Harry wished he had thought to ask Professor Snape to buy him extra books, too. "I suppose I would be. That's… really weird to think about."

Draco snorted. "I'll say. Harry's certainly not the perfect hero that they describe him as; I’m disappointed, frankly.” He turned to Harry and added, “I expected a well-spoken genius who could hex me into next Saturday, but all you’ve done so far is talk about odd Muggle things like those credit cars.”

“Credit cards. And no refunds, I’m afraid,” Harry replied. “I was a baby when I did...whatever I did, anyway. ‘S not like I remember it at all.”

"You must be really powerful then," Neville said. "I don't think I have much power of my own, honestly. My Gran thought I was a Squib for years."

Neville looked so resigned and it reminded Harry of Ron. He scrambled to think of a way to comfort him better than he had before.

"I wouldn't say that.” He settled on. “I don't even know any spells! I’ve read about them, but I can’t use magic at home. The most I’ve done was grow my hair overnight, as far as I recall. I'm sure you'll get better while we're at school."

"I hope so." Neville didn't look very hopeful.

“I don’t know any spells either,” said Draco reluctantly. “I know the theory behind a few, but Father forbade me from practising at home. He said that it could be more detrimental than helpful if I picked up some incorrect techniques and had to unlearn them.”

This seemed to relax Neville much more. “I suppose we’re all even, then.” He nodded to himself, then Harry's sketchbook caught his eye. "Hey, what's that?"

He pointed at Harry's pen, which laid abandoned on top of the sketchbook, stuck to the pages by its top. Harry had refused to use quills despite Professor Snape’s argument that it taught control and precision. He rather thought he had enough of that on his own, thanks very much. Draco, for his part, followed the gesture and grinned.

"That," he said grandly, "is a Muggle invention called a ballpoint pen, or a biro. The ink is in a small container inside of the case and gravity forces it out through the ball suspended at the tip."

Draco had known what gravity was when Harry had explained it at the time, and he had been infinitely grateful that he wouldn’t have to explain that, too. Neville looked fascinated by something as simple as a biro though, so he and Hermione shared an amused look and she hid her laughter behind her hand.

"That's incredible! Does it refill itself? It doesn't look like you can write much with it just like that."

So Harry and Hermione explained typewriters and computers, even though they didn't understand them very well themselves. Hermione seemed to know a lot about televisions, so they moved on to that next, Harry trying his best to illustrate the moving parts and descriptions of radio waves and transmitters.

And so it went, with two purebloods mystified by basic technology explained by two kids raised by Muggles, until the train arrived at Hogwarts.


	5. hlh (hat loving hat)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in this chapter: harry argues with a hat and gets sorted. the rest of the tagged characters make their appearances.

The first years were seated in tables placed right in front of the Deputy Headmistress, separate from the rest of the students. There were so many people, a few thousand maybe, all sat at their respective House tables. They looked on interestedly at the first years, anxious to see who would end up in their House. Draco was to his right and Hermione to his left, Neville next to her. He thought he could see Ron a few tables over.

Since there were so many kids, Harry had no choice but to sit around and anxiously wait until his name was called. He was afraid that being the Boy Who Lived wouldn't allow him to have a normal school year, he was afraid that he'd be told that he wasn't magical enough to stay at Hogwarts, and he was even more afraid that the Sorting would prevent him from keeping the friends that he made.

He tapped silently on the table and tried to focus on the incredible night sky on the Great Hall's ceiling (it was charmed to be like that, according to Hermione) and its magically floating candles. Professor McGonagall had just given a welcome speech and stepped out for whatever she needed to begin the Sorting ceremony. Harry just wanted it to be done as quickly as possible.

“Do any of you know how they Sort us?” Hermione asked loudly.

“I heard from my sister that they make you drink an awful potion and check to see if it kills you,” said a girl with stringy blonde hair.

That started a series of frantic students sharing stories from their own siblings and cousins, each of them frightened that they would have to resort to something so barbaric in front of the entire school. Draco snorted, clearly knowing something that nobody else did, but he didn’t seem inclined to share it.

Finally, a girl with short black hair and calculating brown eyes spoke up. “Oh, _honestly_ , that’s enough. There’s a talking hat called the Sorting Hat. I asked my mother yesterday.”

Sure enough, Professor McGonagall came back out with a big wizard’s hat and an ornate chair. The hat looked old, but well-kept. He wondered what it would say. But it wasn’t the hat that spoke.

"Abbott, Hannah!" Professor McGonagall cried. A small blonde girl stood up and sat in the big chair in the centre of the hall. Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on her head.

It stayed there for a moment before yelling, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

The Hufflepuff section broke out into cheers while Hannah Abbott took a seat. It seemed surprisingly anticlimactic and there was quite a bit less talking than Harry had been waiting for. He sighed, relieved.

"Aris, Perseus!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

It went on for a while. Student after student got placed in all four Houses, but Harry made sure to pay attention to his friends' Sortings among the hundreds of kids that had their turns.

Hermione went first and was there for just over three minutes before joining Ravenclaw. She bounced over to their first year table and gave the Gryffindor section a disapproving head shake as she passed. Harry wondered if Percy's reaction to Draco had changed her mind about the entire House.

Neville was Sorted into Gryffindor in less time than Hermione had taken (nobody had taken as long as her yet). He didn't look as afraid as Harry would have expected and he smiled at Harry and Draco before heading to his section of tables. Harry smiled back and gave a thumbs up.

Draco went to Slytherin even faster, taking less than a minute. He took a seat at one of Slytherin's tables and spoke to some of the other first years sitting there.

Harry was more anxious now that he was alone, so he did addition and multiplication tables in his head as he waited. When that got too hard, he started counting the number of students in the Great Hall. He lost count for the five times before his name was called.

"Potter, Harry!"

Harry stood up and walked to the Sorting Hat. A hush came over the Great Hall, everyone's eyes on him. He hadn't thought it was loud before, but the complete silence was nerve-wracking. He looked up desperately at the teachers’ tables and saw Professor Snape. He didn't smile, but he did give a tiny nod of reassurance, so Harry tried to relax.

There was another professor next to him with a very large turban. His robes were a nice blue and well-tailored, but his face was what caught Harry’s attention. The man’s features were nondescript, but something about him put Harry on edge. He sat down shakily and felt the Sorting Hat sink onto his head.

 _Harry Potter_ , it said. Its voice was inside of his head. _I've been waiting for you._

He thought that entirely too many people had said that to him in the past two months.

_Yes, I can certainly understand why you would feel that way._

_"…Oh my god."_ This was what the girl had meant by a talking hat. The Hat was reading his mind.

_And so I am. How else would I be able to Sort you? Now, where to put you…_

_Interesting._

_“What’s interesting?”_ He didn’t like the way that was said.

_I can't remember ever meeting a child without a House preference before, but here you are. You're against Gryffindor because it's the expected thing, but it wouldn't upset you much to be Sorted there. Why ever not?_

_"Well, why should I care where I'm shoved into? It’s not like the House itself really means that much."_

_Sorting is a complex_ art _, Harry. I look at every child's values, their goals and the means that they use to accomplish them, their preference —_

_"You can’t tell me that every single person, or even most of them, would be in the same House if you Sorted them again in their twenties or thirties —”_

_They certainly would! The children are surrounded by those like them and form a natural camaraderie that will last them beyond their years at this school. We have done it this way for much longer than you can begin to fathom —_

_“But being old doesn’t make something right! You’re putting us into groups and then we’re surrounded by people just like us for years! Do you honestly think we’ll learn to be good people like that?”_

Harry’s head was beginning to hurt with feelings that weren’t entirely his own.

_Hogwarts is not the only place for growth, child. Your peers will learn their lessons into adulthood, long after their colours have lost meaning._

_“No, they won’t! The Houses are part of society here! Kids don’t make up their own minds about which House is good or bad — their parents teach it to them, and they teach it to their own kids, and it keeps going._

_“It’s not just friendly competition! Almost all of these kids, and probably most of the professors, really do believe that all Slytherins are evil. We’re eleven! Eleven-year-olds are evil because a hat made them wear green for a few years?”_

It was quiet in his head for some time, but the headache began to ebb away. Finally, the Hat spoke again.

_I am terribly sorry for my hostility, Harry; a new perspective should always be regarded with utmost respect. Thank you for raising such a point. However, I am afraid that addressing your concerns is for another time. You’ve been here for over six and a half minutes. Officially, that’s called a Hatstall._

Six and a half minutes? Time had completely skipped by him. He felt bad for the rest of the kids all waiting for their own turns.

_“So… where will you Sort me, then? Placing me in Hufflepuff would complete the set, you know. A friend in every House.”_

_Resourceful. I think you’d do well in any House, Harry. You have the fairness and heart of a Hufflepuff, the wit of a Ravenclaw, the sense of justice of a Gryffindor, and the cunning and loyalty of a Slytherin._

_Yes, you’d do well in any House, so we must go by your needs. You’re plenty inquisitive, so placing you in Ravenclaw would just make you cold. On the opposite end, you’re not hardworking enough for a Hufflepuff, and far too calculating. Gryffindor would make you unnecessarily self-sacrificing and deepen those House divisions you hate so much. But Slytherin…_

_You have a strong desire to prove yourself and succeed in your goals, but you are careful and secretive. While you don’t care for political power, you want to be remarkable in your own respect. Quite ambitious, Harry. With a little help from Slytherin, you’ll be quite successful indeed; even more than you’ve dared to imagine. And of course, the Parseltongue certainly doesn’t hurt. How does being a snake sound?_

Harry thought about it: either the Wizarding World would break on its hatred of Slytherin, or they’d break his reputation instead. It was hardly a choice.

_“Well, the green would match my eyes.”_

The Sorting Hat lifted up just enough to show him the faces of everyone else in the Great Hall. Some students looked bored or annoyed, but most of them were pale and had their eyes glued to the Sorting Hat. The professors looked stressed beyond words. Professor Snape had his eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the Hat, but Headmaster Dumbledore had a calm smile as he watched the utter turmoil that Harry had caused.

“Kind-hearted, brave, intelligent, and astute.” The Hat was speaking out loud now, causing many people to jump, gasp, or cry out in surprise. “A good fit for any House, but with your ambition and cunning, you’d better be…”

The Great Hall seemed to be collectively leaning in from their anticipation.

“SLYTHERIN!” The Hat bellowed.

It was done. Harry took the Hat off and placed it on the chair, then turned around and winced.

Most of the student body and teachers were in shock. Neville smiled reassuringly from his table, but everyone else seemed to be frozen. Professor McGonagall was watching the Hat uncomprehendingly, Professor Snape was slack-jawed, several other teachers had dropped their drink glasses… Even Headmaster Dumbledore looked taken aback now. Harry gave a sheepish smile.

“Ha! We got Potter!” a voice shouted. Harry noticed by the face shape and sharp bob that it was the girl who had told them about the Sorting Hat, now seated at one of the Slytherin tables. The Great Hall snapped their heads to her almost immediately, and she raised her hands over her head and started clapping as loudly as she could.

Draco started clapping right after her, seemingly over his shock. Then came Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, and Theodore Nott.

That was enough to break the spell. The rest of the Slytherin section began to cheer and clap, louder than he had heard from any House for anyone else, and Harry walked over to them at a quick pace. He took a seat next to the girl and she immediately brought him into her conversation. Her name was Pansy Parkinson, he learned.

The rest of the Sorting went by in a blur after that. He clapped loudly for every Slytherin along with the rest of his House, but he also clapped for the other kids. His hands hurt by the time the last student was Sorted and Headmaster Dumbledore got up to speak.

“Good evening, everyone!” Dumbledore began after the students quieted down. “I am very glad to see you all sitting here at Hogwarts, ready for a new school year. As with every year, I have some words to share before the feast. Here they are: Hurry! Cabal! Reef!”

Headmaster Dumbledore sat down. House elves began to bring food to the tables.

Harry stared. The Headmaster remained seated.

“Is he…” Harry didn’t even know how to finish.

“A nutter? Yes.” Gemma Farley replied solemnly. Her Prefect badge glittered in the candlelight. “He’s completely mad.”

“He had to have been sane once,” Claire Collins said, then shoved a bread roll in her mouth. “‘e woul’n be able t’ beat grin’l’w’l wi’ou all ‘is marbles.”

“Finish chewing, that’s disgusting.” Violet Yeung chided with a frown. She ate a piece of her lamb much more gracefully and ignored Claire’s responding eye roll.

“I bet he was gone back then, too.” That was Draco. He was across from Harry with Vincent and Gregory on either side of him. “You don’t have to be sane to be powerful.”

“Then how is he the Headmaster?” Harry asked, piling food onto his own plate. He was overwhelmed with all of the options, so he just took a bit of everything he could reach.

“Well, he defeated Grindelwald.” Draco took a bite of his spring roll.

“So they gave him a _school_ _?”_

“Yes.”

The Wizarding World just confused Harry more whenever he tried to understand any aspect of it, so he decided to do the smart thing and stop asking questions.

Pansy and Theodore Nott got into a passionate discussion about how they’d get the girls and boys access to each other’s dorms without the stairs violently tossing them into the common room, occasionally interjected by other people at the table. Daphne Greengrass started writing the suggestions down to be tried later, occasionally offering some of her own. Gemma dutifully pretended that she couldn’t hear any of it.

Once dessert arrived, discussion moved to the material that they’d cover in their classes. Daphne, Theodore, and Draco all lamented about having Professor Binns for History of Magic.

“He’s a ghost, Harry.” Pansy snickered, pausing to finish cake. “Everyone falls asleep in his class. We have King, so we got lucky. I heard that she’s in a competition with LaBelle, the other History professor.”

Gemma nodded. “She definitely is. They’ve hated each other ever since they started here. Be prepared for anything in her class — a kid got lost in her room once.”

“Lost?”

“Oh, yes. She had spelled the classroom to look like a forest for one of her lessons when the kid wandered off. Took them three hours to find him. It normally would’ve been much faster, but they couldn’t _Finite_ anything in case he was hanging from a tree.”

“What about _Accio_ _?”_ Daphne asked, then ate another piece of chocolate.

“You can’t _Accio_ a person. It’d be really helpful if you could.”

They were interrupted by a magically-amplified clink of glass. Headmaster Dumbledore waited a moment for silence, then spoke.

“I do hope that you’ve all enjoyed your meals. I would just like to take the time to remind students that the Forbidden Forest is forbidden. You’ll find that its name is quite an accurate description.” Harry was inclined to agree. “Secondly, the third floor corridor is forbidden for anyone who doesn’t wish to have a slow, painful death. It’s also forbidden for those who do. If you have any questions or need help, my office, as well as the offices of the rest of the staff, are open to you at any time. Prefects, please lead the first years to their dorms.”

Gemma tied her red hair back and stood up with the rest of the Prefects. She casted _Sonorus_ and her voice was now much louder, like she was speaking from just in front of you no matter her position in respect to you. “First years, please come with me and Basil Proper, the dull tosser with the bad haircut and glowing wand!”

Basil Prosper did not have a bad haircut. He had a buzzcut, actually. His wand _was_ glowing, though. He let out a noise of protest at the insults, but smiled good-naturedly.

The first years stood up and followed their lead, which took them down moving staircases (wow!) and into the basement, apparently called a dungeon for no reason other than dramatics, Harry was sure. Wizards were a dramatic lot in general. From there, they stopped at a large stone wall.

“This is the entrance!” Basil said. “The password is Merlin. It changes every fortnight, but there will be a notice on the big board in the main common room. Don’t give it to anyone in another House. If you forget the password, tell another Slytherin to let you in. If there isn’t one, go to Professor Snape or the Assistant Head.”

“ _Merlin_.” Basil directed this at the wall, which dissolved like water and revealed the main common room.

It was huge, firstly. Harry could easily see how every student in Slytherin could fit inside comfortably. There was a huge fireplace, green lanterns, comfortable chairs, big tables… it was breathtaking. Some upper years were playing a wizard version of Twister and didn’t look up as they approached. Others were reading by three large bookcases or chatting with each other, and one or two seemed to be passed out in their seats. They didn’t stay there long because Basil and Gemma split the boys and girls up.

Basil led them to a large staircase that said, “BOYS’ DORMS” and stopped after going down one flight.

“This is the floor for first year boys. If you need to talk to the upper years, go down more flights. Second years are second floor, third years are third floor, so on. Yes, this means that you’ll have to go up and down seven flights as a seventh year, and I have it on good authority that it sucks just as much as you’d imagine.”

The first year common room wasn’t nearly as large as the main common room, but it was still a comfortable size. The seats looked just as inviting and there were tables and another fireplace. The windows showed the Hogwarts lake, dark now since it was night. There were eight doors on the right wall and eight doors on the left wall.

“There are four beds behind each door. They’re not assigned, so you can room with anyone you’d like. Once you pick a bed, clap twice and your luggage will settle itself into your room. Don’t ask me how it works, nobody knows anymore. Our Head of House is Professor Snape and the Assistant Head is Professor Burbage. You can go to either of them if you have any serious issues.” Basil grinned at them. “Alright, I’m done. Go ahead and hang around until Monday. Welcome to Hogwarts.”

Basil left them in the common room and Harry didn’t know what to do next. He didn’t know where he should dorm and he didn’t want to be presumptuous by following Draco, so he stood back as the rest of the boys made their way into their rooms.

To his surprise, he didn’t stand there for long. Draco popped his head out from his new room with a searching expression. He narrowed his eyes when he found Harry’s bewildered ones.

“Don’t be stupid,” he said simply, and tugged him inside.

The dorm room had a big window at the far end and four beds with green curtains. The door to their shared bathroom looked antique and expensive. Theo was unpacking from one bed and Blaise Zabini clapped for his luggage from another. Draco went to his own bed, next to Theo’s, leaving Harry to take the one next to Zabini and closer to the door.

After unpacking and having a shower, Theo, Blaise, and Draco ventured out into the main common room, but he was too knackered to join them. Harry shut his bed curtains and casted his first spells. He hadn’t been lying to Neville on the train, but he had been carefully researching these spells in particular over summer.

 _“Quietus,”_ He pointed his wand at the curtains as he said it, putting all of his dedication into it because his books said doing that was important. A small thrum of power went through his casting arm. _“Colloportus. Sonorus Intrusus.”_

Content, he got into bed and listened to the water move smoothly outside. He doubted that an upper year would have any trouble undoing his spellwork, but for his fellow first years, it would be enough. He didn’t want their pity when they heard him scream in the dead of night.


	6. first days are hard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these chapter names are too fun to come up with. my s/o says that hlh (hat loving hat) doesnt make sense because the hat doesnt smash another hat. to that i say, as the kids do, DLDR.
> 
> in this chapter: the school year starts. reading is fundamental

A loud ringing, not unlike an alarm clock, made Harry scramble out of bed with as much grace as he could manage so early in the morning. As it turned out, it wasn’t much, and he ended up tangled in his blankets and facedown on the floor.

_RING! RING! RING! RING! RING! RING! RING! RING!_

Harry lay there for a few seconds and listened to the ringing before it became too much. He blindly reached for his wand and pointed it at his curtains, undoing his list of spells with a focused _Finite_. As his intruder walked in, he kicked off his blankets.

“I was going to wake you up for breakfast,” Theo was his intruder, it seemed. “But you had more spells up than I knew what to do with. Then the alarm started and, well…”

He gave a sheepish smile. “Yeah, sorry. It’s just personal stuff, is all.” He hoped that Theo wouldn’t ask for more than that; he didn’t want to explain his sleeping problem.

But Theo didn’t seem to care for more information. “It’s fine. Still got you awake.” He reached over and handed Harry his glasses from the bedside table. Harry pushed them onto his nose and his friend’s features sharpened from blobs of colour.

“Cheers. What time is it?”

“Well, you slept in a bit — you have maybe fifteen minutes to get ready before you’ll end up late to breakfast.”

Theo snickered at his frustrated groan, the git, so Harry kicked him out of their room and rushed to get put together enough for the Great Hall. He couldn’t believe that he had forgotten to set an alarm charm (besides the one on his curtains), but he couldn’t do anything about that now. With any luck, he could rush through getting ready, or the two of them would be late together.

* * *

 Luck was on his side, as it happened, so Theo and Harry arrived at breakfast just in time. While Theo sat with the Slytherins, he made his way to the first-year Ravenclaw table. Hermione was speaking to a brown haired boy when he approached, but she smiled at Harry when she noticed him.

“Harry, hi!” She closed her book with her index finger as a bookmark, giving him her full attention. “I have to admit, I didn’t expect to see you Sorted into Slytherin.”

He made a mental note to explain his Sorting experience to her later. It would probably interest her. “Congratulations on getting into Ravenclaw. I just wanted to see if we shared any classes.” He pulled out his timetable and waved it a little at her.

“Oh, good idea! We should compare with Neville and Draco too, though.”

She said goodbye to the boy, neatly picked up her things, and followed him over to the Gryffindor table. Harry couldn’t help but notice a flurry of whispers that was overtaking the Great Hall the closer they got to the Gryffindor section. Many people hadn’t seen the two of them, but the ones who had were openly staring. Hermione didn’t appear to notice, but Harry kept his shoulders squared and one eye on the nearest Prefect in case anything got out of hand.

The staring is what made Neville notice them. He beamed and made space for them to sit. “Oh, hey! I’m so glad to see you! Sit with me for breakfast?”

“Neville, you can’t offer a seat to a _snake!_ ” said a furious Gryffindor before either of them could respond. Harry felt Hermione tense at his side.

“We don’t need people like that stinking up our table,” another boy said. Harry bit back the urge to tell him that sneering didn’t make his droopy face look any better. A moment later, he wished he had just said it, because Hermione had taken the opportunity to speak up in his place.

“That ‘snake’ is my friend and I _won’t_ have you insulting him!” Flattering as it was to be defended, Hermione was getting them more attention. He tried, frantically, to figure out a way to diffuse the situation before it got any worse.

“And he’s my friend, too!” Neville was shaking as much as his voice, but there was a determined glint in his eyes as he stood up and started at the two other Gryffindors. “If you won’t let him sit here, fine. We’ll just sit somewhere else.”

“I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be good,” Hermione sneered, refusing to let it drop. Her fists clenched around the book she was carrying like she was about to use it as a weapon. “But you’re all just a bunch of… of self-righteous _pricks_!”

“We don’t want to associate with wannabe Death Eaters and neither should you! Potter probably only managed to kill You-Know-Who because he’s an even darker wizard than He was! I bet that he was the one who really killed his parents!”

Harry only managed to keep it together because he was used to people saying horrible things to him — the one truly helpful thing that the Dursleys had taught him was to keep a strong hold on his temper. But Hermione either did not have to learn such a lesson, or was so offended on his behalf that it didn’t matter anymore. She dropped her book in favour of her wand in a heartbeat, aiming to cast something that would undoubtedly get in her in trouble.

_“Aqua Eructo!”_

The spell did not come out of Hermione’s mouth. He turned to see Neville with his wand pointed directly at the other Gryffindor’s chest while about a bucket’s worth of water spat out of it. The boy managed to shield his face, but his robes were completely soaked through. The other Gryffindor students gasped in disbelief, including Neville himself, who was staring at his hands like he couldn’t fathom that it was him who had caused the mess.

Harry saw the flash of Draco’s blond hair a moment before he spoke. “Well, I can certainly see why you weren’t Sorted into Slytherin, LeBlanc; exchanging petty insults with strangers? We would have eaten you alive. It’s really for the best that you’re with the lions.”

Draco had a bland smile on his face, but his eyes were calculating.

“Piss off, Malfoy.” LeBlanc snarled. “You and your evil little friends will put me off my breakfast.”

Draco kept his expression as if LeBlanc hadn’t said anything at all. “Neville and Hermione, the first-year Slytherin table has offered to seat you. I hope you don’t mind if I’m not part of the conversation; I promised Father an owl by the end of today.”

At this, he turned back to and looked at LeBlanc. “He’s insistent on regular correspondence now that I’m at Hogwarts.”

Harry knew that this was some kind of threat, but he couldn’t yet understand how. He kept his mouth shut and watched.

“I wouldn’t want to displease him.” Draco’s smile took a razor-sharp edge and LeBlanc scowled and looked away from them in a rush of movement, hunching over just slightly.

With another mental note to ask about that later, Harry piled in with Neville and Hermione at the Slytherin table. After he and Draco introduced Hermione and Neville, there was an awkward silence for a full minute. None of the Slytherins knew what to say to a Ravenclaw and a Gryffindor, it seemed. Neville flipped through one of his books and Hermione took her time pulling a quill out of her bag, neither wanting to break the silence.

“Neville,” Daphne said in a perfectly friendly tone. Neville’s eyebrows raised and she continued with a pretty smile. “When do you have Charms? If you can cast _Aqua Eructo_ that quickly, I might have to steal you away for some help. I’m absolute rubbish at charms.”

Just like that, the standstill was over and the Slytherins welcomed Neville and Hermione with ease. They went over their schedules as breakfast finally came out, making small notes of who they shared a class with and laughing at people who got bad professors for a subject.

The entire time, Harry could feel eyes on them. He turned around once to find the same professor from the Sorting Feast staring at him, again. They made eye contact for just a moment and Harry felt a stab of pain, right where Voldemort had marked him as a baby. Hand shooting to his scar and dread bubbling in his stomach, he turned back to his friends.

He didn’t turn around again.

* * *

Harry’s first three days were as fun as he expected. The only teachers who seemed to care at all about his name were Professors Flitwick and King. Professor Flitwick recovered quickly after falling out of his seat though, and he agreed to teach Harry some charms for when he wrote to Dudley, and Professor King just seemed smug that she had the Boy Who Lived instead of Professor LaBelle. She also warned the class that they’d be taking a hands-on approach to learning history and should prepare accordingly. Harry had no idea what _preparing accordingly_ entailed. Pansy was just excited.

Transfiguration was interesting enough, with a bunch of rules that they had to promise not to break, but only he and Hermione managed to make any difference to the matchsticks that they were given (Hermione’s was a match/needle hybrid and Harry had a shiny silver match). Professor McGonagall assured the class that this was normal, and he had a new understanding of just how difficult Human Transfiguration must be.

He thought that Astronomy with Professor Sinistra would be boring, but she made the ceiling and walls look like the night sky like the Great Hall, planets and stars spinning and twinkling now and again, so he didn’t hate it. Herbology class _was_ boring, as much as he liked Professor Sprout, but it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. It reminded him of weeding back at the Dursleys, only more dangerous, so he didn’t mind it too much.

For whatever reason, everyone had been looking forward to Defence Against the Dark Arts, but Professor Quirrell was just a weird man who smelt of garlic and stuttered a lot. Unfortunately, he was also the man in the turban with the Bad Omens, so Harry did not look forward to his class for more reasons than just his odour. But since he was the only one with a freaky scar from attempted murder, he didn’t bother to bring it up.

Yes, Hermione promised to learn a charm to cover their noses from the thick garlic smell that floated around his room, and he saw Draco determinedly flipping through his charms book during lunch, but nobody mentioned feeling queasy whenever they made eye contact with him. He knew better than to dismiss it, but he didn’t see any reason to mention it to his friends at the moment and didn’t trust any of the professors to take him seriously, so he kept it in the back of his mind.

Finally, it was time to go to his first Potions class. Dudley had left a lot of notes in this class’ required text and Harry had to admit that he thought it was interesting, but Draco seemed _overjoyed_ about the class. He had said that he’d learnt some theory from Professor Snape over the course of his acquaintance with the Malfoys, and it fascinated him like no other class had so far. In the face of that, Harry found himself smiling back when Draco sat next to him in the classroom and beamed at him. The joy was contagious, it seemed.

Professor Snape took roll call as soon as the class started, surrounded at his desk by weird-looking tools and clean bottles. He didn’t fall out of his chair like Flitwick when he went over Harry’s name, just continued as if he was another student. He had expected as much, of course, but it was relieving nonetheless. When he finished, he rolled up his sleeves and addressed the class.

“You are here to learn potion-making as a science and as an art,” he declared in the slow and measured tone that he had used with Harry back in July. “With as much listening and thinking as this class will require, I suspect that most of you will fail to see how this is considered magic. Clumsy wand movements will not help you in this class. Improper brewing may lead to a trip to St. Mungo’s. This is a class where you will learn discipline instead. I can teach you how to bottle luck, brew glory, and even more — but you will have to listen, and you will have to think most of all.”

Draco looked even more pleased after the speech. He straightened up in his chair and grinned to himself.

“Potter!” Professor Snape said it so quickly that Harry almost fell out of _his_ chair. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Harry could feel himself blanking from the anxiety over being singled out and willed it away with sheer determination. He forced himself to focus. Wormwood was bitter and used in absinthe. No, he dismissed that thought; it was useless.

Asphodels, he knew, were a symbol of death. Professor Snape couldn’t be asking about some kind of actual death potion, Harry hadn’t read about anything like that, so what _was_ he asking about? It had to be something like death, something —

The answer came him like a light bulb flickering on. “Draught of the Living Death, Professor.”

Professor Snape narrowed his eyes and leant over his desk a bit. “Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”

He didn’t have to think nearly as hard for this one. Bezoars were both a type of goat and some kind of stony thing inside of a stomach, so… “In the stomach of a goat, sir.”

Harry could feel the class’ eyes on him as Professor Snape shot off another question, some hoping that he failed and other Slytherins hoping that he’d earn them some points. “What is the difference between wolfsbane and monkshood?”

Professor Snape had asked two questions related to flowers, interestingly enough. “Nothing. They’re the same plant.”

The professor searched his face, then nodded. “Correct on all counts, Mr. Potter. Three points to Slytherin for opening your textbook before this afternoon.” He turned to the rest of the class. “Well? Why are none of you taking notes? I trust that you do know how to write.”

They immediately began scratching their quills onto their parchments and the lesson continued. Draco gave him a proud smile. Harry let out a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding and relaxed. Professor Snape had been testing him, but he had passed.

The brewing part of the class was a lot like cooking. Draco was certainly in his element here, but Harry was good at chopping ingredients and even more motivated now to do well, so they made a good pair. He and Draco managed to brew the boil cure they were requested to make with relative ease as Professor Snape stalked around and criticised students for every error under the sun (including eating ingredients). He checked Harry and Draco’s potion with a critical stare, muttered about how they had managed to follow simple directions, and gave them full marks. Draco told everyone about it over dinner.

Neither Neville nor Hermione had Professor Snape, so they couldn’t understand how special it was to get a perfect score from him, but Daphne and Violet were suitably impressed. The rest of their conversation was about the clubs that would be formed this year. Harry wasn’t interested in joining any, so he took a backseat in the conversation and half listened, half day-dreamed.

Back at their room, Draco stretched himself out on Harry’s mattress and wrote a letter to his parents. Harry was going through his trunk, looking for one of the Muggle books he had packed, when a brown owl perched itself on the lid of the trunk and gave him a letter. He took it with a confused frown, barely noticing it fly away.

* * *

 

_Harry,_

_I don’t wish to take time away from your adjustment to Hogwarts, but I would like to speak with you this evening. I’m rather fond of watermelon taffy, as of late._

_A. Dumbledore_

* * *

 

“That can’t be your cousin,” remarked Draco without looking up from his own letter.  It was for his parents, if he was remembering correctly. Harry peeked at it and noticed that his handwriting was almost perfect cursive.

“It’s not. It’s from the headmaster,” he replied, puzzled. “He wants to me to go to his office, but I don’t know what he wants. I don’t remember doing anything.”

Draco sent away his envelope with his own owl, Ulysses, and dramatically dropped back on Harry’s bed. “I bet he’s going to try to Sort you again. The Saviour of the Wizarding World can’t be a Slytherin! It’s an outrage!” He pushed himself up and clutched Harry’s robes. “If he just puts the Sorting Hat back on, Harry, you’ll wear your rightful colours and go back to the side of the Light, you’ll see.”

“The Sorting Hat and I had a great discussion about it, so I’d like to see him try to get either of us to change our minds.”

“With how long you were under there, one would hope it was a good discussion.” Draco attempted to Summon some sweets from his own bed, but gave up when they didn’t so much as twitch. “Are you going to go?”

He frowned. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“Of course you do. You can either waste your night in his office, or you can join me in the library. Hey, stop looking at me like that! It’ll be fun!”

“I’m honoured that you’d extend such a _generous_ offer —”

“Shut up.”

“— for me to spend an entire evening admiring you in the dimness —”

“Shut up!”

“— of the Hogwarts library. I never knew that you could be so _romantic_ —”

“Just go to his office, you prat!” Draco cried, pushing Harry neatly off of the bed. Harry grunted from the impact, but it didn’t hurt that much.

“Stop begging to snog Harry in the legal section, Draco. We agreed to only start corrupting him in fourth year.” Theo scolded as he appeared in the doorway and stole one of Draco’s boxes of chocolates.

Draco’s outraged yells and Harry’s laughter echoed in the room.

* * *

 The Headmaster was waiting at his desk when Harry finally figured out that _watermelon taffy_ was a password. His office was impressive; there were a bunch of knickknacks that Harry didn’t recognise and a row of portraits against one of its walls. A few of them were out of their frames and the remaining ones whispered to each other as Harry walked past them. There was a large bird cage, but it was empty.

“Hello, Harry. Lemon drop?” Dumbledore gestured to a large bowl of lemon drops in front of him.

“Um, no thank you, sir. You wanted to see me?” Harry stared at the desk, intimidated by the Headmaster’s intense gaze. Dumbledore chewed on a lemon drop before replying.

“Yes, I did, my boy. How are you adjusting to Hogwarts?” asked Dumbledore.

“It’s been nice so far. Everything is different from what I’m used to, but it doesn’t really bother me. My classes are interesting and fun, and I have friends to help me out if I get confused or lost.”

Dumbledore looked thoughtful, but not unkind. Still, there was an air of seriousness to him now. “You surprised a great number of people with your Sorting, my boy. I must admit, even I was not prepared to see you join the Slytherins in the dungeons.”

It was starting to look like Draco had been right, after all. Harry wished he had blown off the meeting and gone to the library. It would have been a boring way to spend his night, sure, but it would have been better than this. He repressed the urge to rub his forehead against the stress headache he was beginning to feel.

“Well, sir, I think it’s a good fit. Hufflepuffs are too fair for me, and Ravenclaws are too impartial.”

“And Gryffindors?” There was no attempt to disguise his interest.

“They’re too ready to sacrifice stuff for a cause, I think.” Harry said slowly. “If someone told them to hurt themselves or someone they love for the greater good, they would, or they’d at least feel terrible if they didn’t.”

“You would not?”  
Harry thought about it. “Probably not hurt myself, and definitely not someone I loved. Nothing is worth that much.”

“Even if it saved the lives of others?”

He felt uneasy; the Headmaster was reminding Harry of something important, but he couldn’t remember what. “Even then. Headmaster, did you really invite me here just so you could ask me about morality?”

Dumbledore laughed and began to tidy some papers on his desk. “Humour an old man, Harry. I’ve found that children often have insightful thoughts about even the most adult of topics. Have you met the groundskeeper? It’s slipped my mind to introduce the two of you, I’m sorry to say. His name is Rubeus Hagrid. He knew your parents.”

He meant to reply to that, he _did_ , but one of Headmaster Dumbledore’s papers caught his eye.

Harry reached for the newspaper before he could think about it. “There was a break-in at Gringotts?” he asked, skimming through the blurb on the cover.

Dumbledore gave a serious nod. “Only one vault was broken into and nothing was taken. They have yet to find the person responsible.”

It was on the same day that Harry had been at Diagon Alley, his birthday.

“Nothing was stolen?”

“The vault was already empty.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” An idea popped into Harry’s head. “Oh. Wait. The person whose vault was broken into must’ve known this would happen, or at least suspected it! So they cleared out the vault before the thief broke in! It must have been something worth a lot of money if someone’s willing to risk the wrath of the goblins that run Gringotts, though. They’re very serious about their security.”

Dumbledore looked nothing more than genuinely appreciative of the idea, but Harry still wanted to leave as soon as possible. “Very wise thought, Harry. Don’t worry overmuch; the Aurors will catch the culprit eventually.”

Harry nodded his agreement and got up to leave, but Dumbledore held up a hand. “Before you leave, a word of advice; be sure that you refrain from wandering around the third floor corridor. You could end up very injured. Focus on your classes instead, like Charms.”

“O-okay…?”

Harry stared at him. Dumbledore met his dumbfounded gaze impassively.

“I… Alright, sir. Good night.”

“Good night, Harry.”

Harry was halfway down the stairs that led out of the Headmaster’s office before Dumbledore’s implication fully sank in. Dumbledore _wanted_ Harry go into the third floor corridor.

_Why?_


	7. locked doors are sometimes locked for a reason

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER: harry remembers physical abuse by the dursleys. if youd like to skip it, it exists between asterisks *like this*. its a single paragraph. keep yourselves safe.
> 
> i should have probably broken up these chapters a bit more, but eh. more happens in per chapter this way.
> 
> in this chapter: harry rides something meant for cleaning and is not expelled. pansy needs her beauty sleep. the third floor corridor is still forbidden, but wizards can't read. peeves is chaotic evil

“You’re being paranoid, Harry.” Draco declared on their way to flying class. They were to have the class on the first Saturday of every month and Harry was excited beyond belief. He couldn’t believe that Muggles had been right about the broom-flying thing but he was very pleased that they had been; flying! The only damper to his excitement was what Headmaster Dumbledore had said on Wednesday night.

When he returned from the office, Harry had buried his head in his books and tried to forget that Dumbledore seemed to want him to go on some kind of dangerous adventure for treasures unknown in the third floor corridor. Try as he might, however, Harry couldn’t get it out of his mind and he had finally explained it all to Draco.

“He warned me about it completely unprompted, Draco.” Harry rubbed his temples, weary that it was rapidly becoming a habit. “He had no reason to do that unless he wanted me to check it out!”

“And what could he possibly want from you? We’re firsties.”

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it!”

Their conversation was cut short by the flying coach. Madam Hooch was an intimidating woman despite being fairly short. Her cropped, greying hair did nothing to soften her weathered face and ruffled in the breeze. “Everyone stand by a broomstick!” she called. “Hurry up!”

Harry looked sceptically down at his broom. It didn’t seem strong enough to hold anyone, even an underfed eleven year old.

“The brooms are old,” Draco said, noticing Harry’s expression. “My father’s been proposing that they get replaced for years now, but the rest of the committee refuses. Merlin knows why; the bloody things are old enough to legally Apparate.”

“Stick your right hand over your broom and say ‘UP!’” Madam Hooch instructed, showing them as she said it.

“UP!” Harry and the other students all shouted.

Harry felt rather silly for a moment, yelling at a broom, but it shot neatly into his hand as soon as he commanded it. He looked around, wondering why so many people had been nervous if the first part was so easy.

This was because the first part was _not_ easy. While he and a few others had their brooms in their hand, they were in a tiny minority. Most brooms either rolled over or didn’t move at all; he noticed Hermione yelling more insistently at her unresponsive broom and Neville sighing down at his own. Madam Hooch sprung into action without a word, getting everyone else’s brooms up so they were all ready for the next part.

Madam Hooch showed them all how to mount their brooms, which didn’t seem too complicated, and Harry got on without issue once again. Draco bristled at being told that he had been mounting incorrectly for years, but changed his style accordingly. Like before, Madam Hooch helped out those who had been struggling until everyone was firmly and correctly mounted onto a broom.

“Good. Now, I’m going to blow my whistle. When you hear it, kick off the ground as hard as you can while keeping your brooms steady.” said Madam Hooch. “Let yourself rise a few feet, then lean forward to drop back down. On the whistleblow —  three… two —”

Neville went flying before the count was done, shooting into the sky like a rocket.

“GET BACK DOWN HERE, BOY!” Madam Hooch hollered.

But Neville had no control of his broom. Hermione screamed for him along with a bunch of other students, while others stared in mute horror. Neville was zigzagging around them with his hands locked onto his broomstick to keep him from dropping to what could possibly be his death.

It was that thought that pushed Harry into motion. He kicked off and shot after Neville without a second thought, ignoring Madam Hooch’s shout. The wind whipped his curls wildly around his face and he roughly pushed his fringe back, now twenty feet off of the ground and able to see Neville’s pale frightened face much more clearly.

“Neville, take my hand! I’ll get you back down!” he shouted over the sound of motion.

He was moving fast and Harry had to move just as quickly in order to keep up, unconsciously mirroring every twist and dip. Neville looked thankful to see him and reached out to grab Harry’s hand —

Harry could see, before it happened, that Neville’s broom would kick back against him and send him falling helplessly to the ground. He reacted preemptively, shooting out and holding Neville’s wrist in a tight grip just as the broom pulled itself out from under him. Neville didn’t even have the time to scream before Harry yanked him as hard as he could onto his own broom and guided them safely to the ground.

“How–How did you grab me so fast?” Neville asked as Harry helped him off of the broom. Harry could see the crowd of students rushing over from his peripheral.

“It wasn’t hard, really. I saw that you were going to fall, so I grabbed you.”

Neville shook his head emphatically. “No, Harry; you grabbed my hand faster than I could even react! That’s incredible! Gods, _thank you!”_

“Potter!” A voice called out. The crowd forming around them hurriedly dispersed to reveal Professor Snape. His face was very pale and a little frightened. Harry’s heart dropped somewhere near his shoes.

“Oh, uh, Professor!” he stammered. “Neville lost control of his broom and everybody was just staring! I didn’t want him to get hurt, so I —”

“Have you ever flown before?” Snape cut in, fear bleeding into a stern expression.

“No, sir.” He didn’t see a point in lying. “I understand that it wasn’t my best idea, but I couldn’t just stand there.”

“Students are not allowed to simply shoot off into the sky, no matter the circumstances. Madam Hooch is more than equipped to handle uncoordinated students.” Seeing as she had just been watching and waiting for Neville to drop, Harry wasn’t inclined to agree with Snape’s statement. “Come with me. We will have to decide on an appropriate punishment for this… recklessness.”

Helpless, Harry trailed behind Professor Snape and smiled weakly at the apologetic looks he received from his friends. Neville was being supported by Hermione and Draco, clearly shaken, but he was okay and that was what mattered. He and Professor Snape marched back to the castle.

Professor Snape walked briskly and purposefully along the corridors. Harry followed silently, too afraid to say anything. The professor seemed very upset with him; his long strides forced Harry into a light jog, but he didn’t slow down. Harry knew that flying unsupervised wasn’t allowed and they were only supposed to go a few feet in the air this time, but he couldn’t just let Neville get injured. Was that such a crime?

Was he going to get _expelled_ for this?

The thought of losing all of this and going back to Privet Drive put a lump in his throat, eyes stinging. He could already hear Uncle Vernon mocking him for lasting barely a week out of their hands as he shoved Harry back into his cupboard.

They stopped outside of a classroom in the Astronomy wing. Professor Snape knocked on the door.

“Yes?” A copper-haired professor answered as she pulled the door open. Her robes were dark green, flaring out dramatically at the elbows and making her look a little more like a seer or a Muggle depiction of witches. She wore a large, curly witch’s hat. All in all, she very clearly didn’t look like Dumbledore (who dealt with expulsions, Harry assumed). She didn’t seem to know why Professor Snape had interrupted her lesson, either. Harry was confused.

“Excuse me, Professor Mortviven, but I’d like to borrow Marcus Flint for a few minutes.”

“Of course, Professor Snape,” she replied amicably. Professor Mortviven went back into her classroom and a tall boy with grey eyes and dark hair came out, presumably Marcus Flint.

“Professor Snape?” He looked confused, too. Confusion might have been the emotion of the day.

“Come with me, both of you.” said Professor Snape, so they did. Harry avoided Marcus Flint’s eyes, still too confused and nervous to want to deal with someone else.

Professor Snape led them into an empty classroom — well, empty except for a quiet Peeves writing, “Have you polished your knob?” on the blackboard in cursive. It was really nice handwriting, definitely better than he expected of Peeves.

When Marcus Flint snickered and Professor Snape stormed over to Peeves, Harry realised he was missing something. Again.

“Out, Peeves!” Professor Snape ordered in an authoritative shout. Peeves swore and threw the chalk at his head.

“You can’t stop me forever, Snivellus!” he yelled as he swooped out into the hallway. Professor Snape snarled and slammed the door hard behind him, then spelled the cursive off. He let out a frustrated breath, shook his head, and turned back to Harry and Marcus Flint. “Potter, this is Marcus Flint. Flint, this is your new Seeker.”

Marcus Flint looked cautiously hopeful despite himself. “We already have a Seeker, sir.”

“You and I are both well aware that Terence Higgs would be much happier as a Chaser. I can personally vouch for Mr. Potter’s skills.”

“But a first year?”

“Potter, explain what happened during your first flying lesson just this morning. Don’t be modest; state the _facts.”_ He gave Harry a meaningful look.

Harry fidgeted under it combined with the weight of Marcus Flint’s intense stare (and maybe at the idea of speaking highly of himself, if he was being honest), but obeyed.

“Um, Madam Hooch was instructing us on how to mount and hover on our brooms, but one of my friends kicked off too early and lost control of his broom. I flew after him. We ended up about twenty or so feet off of the ground and I told him to grab my hand. I could see that his broom was about to slip out from under him, so I grabbed him right as it did and landed us. That’s it, I think.”

Marcus Flint looked very interested, a slow smile pulling on his face. Harry thought he looked a lot less frightening when he was smiling. “You kept up with his broom and grabbed him before he could actually start to drop?”

“Yes.”

“And you’d never flown before?”

“No, never.”

He was sporting a full grin now. “Fantastic! As a first year, too… imagine what you’ll be like in a few years.” He thought for a few moments before snapping out of it and sticking a hand out. “Marcus Flint, Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team. Pleasure to have you on the team.”

Harry shook the hand, blinking. He turned to Professor Snape. “I’m on the Quidditch team?”

“Would you rather be expelled?”

“No.”

Professor Snape nodded. “Welcome to the Slytherin Quidditch team. We’ll speak with the Headmaster about acquiring a broom for you.”

“He’ll need a good one, Professor,” said Flint. “A Nimbus Two Thousand — Cleansweep Seven’s a good one, too, but I think he’ll suit a Nimbus better.” Flint grinned again. “We’re going to beat Gryffindor _again_ , Merlin! Lovely, absolutely lovely.”

Harry didn’t see his friends again until lunch. Professor Snape had brought him straight to the Headmaster’s office with Flint tagging along, and they discussed Harry ordering a broom via owl. Harry and Flint then looked at one of Flint’s broom catalogues and picked out a broom — the Nimbus Two Thousand — for Snape to order. It hadn’t taken overly long, but the Headmaster had told Harry that his father had been a Chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team when he was in school and Harry felt a bit too tender to see his friends after that.

He wondered if maybe he should’ve just been in Gryffindor, if only to connect to his parents and play for the House they had represented. It was a stupid thought, but that didn’t make it any less painful.

He was still a bit dejected when he made it to the lunch table. Neville, Daphne, and Theo were discussing school gossip (something about a Hufflepuff?), while Hermione and Draco were arguing about something. Hermione pointed insistently at a line in one of her books and Draco rolled his eyes in response. He had no idea what they were so passionate about, but he took a moment to take in the sight of a life so different from what he had expected it to be like before The Letter arrived, and smiled. He wasn’t in the same House as his parents, but he was happy, and he thought that was much more important.

Plus, it felt damn good to not be expelled.

Hermione noticed him first. “Harry! God, I was so worried! You haven’t been expelled, have you? Snape has to know that you were just trying to help another student and that’s not worth expulsion! I checked the code of conduct earlier and I can argue about the rules against flying if you —”

Harry stopped her with a laugh and headshake. “Hermione, it’s fine, I swear. I didn’t even get a detention.”

“What’d he do to you, then?” Draco asked, scratching at his cheekbone. He had ink stains on his hands, likely from the forgotten essay next to his food.

Harry slid in next to him and pushed his things into a neat pile. After a slight hesitation, he stole a bite of Draco’s salad. He huffed, but didn’t stop him.

“Made me join the Quidditch team, actually.”

The choking noises made him laugh again. He tried to cover it up for their sake, but he still got a sharp elbow to the ribs from Draco.

“You’re on the Quidditch team?” Daphne looked like her entire world had shifted.

“That is _blatant_ favouritism, Harry!” cried Hermione indignantly. “Not that I would expect any better from Professor Snape, but it’s highly unprofessional!”

“Merlin, Harry.” Neville breathed, completely unaffected by Hermione’s protests. “I felt so bad about getting you in trouble, but if you’re on the Quidditch team now…” He trailed off. “Which position?”

Harry couldn’t hold back his grin. “Seeker.”

Everyone but Hermione gasped. She looked at them with narrowed eyes. “What? Is that an important one or something? Not all of us care about stupid sports, you know!”

“Slytherin already had a Seeker, Hermione; Terence Higgs.” Neville explained. “Harry must be really good to have replaced him. Plus, he’s a first year! Hogwarts hasn’t had a first year Seeker in over a century!”

“Well, Higgs won’t mind. Flint said that he’s wanted to be a Chaser for a while, but they couldn’t find anyone good enough to replace him.” Harry stole some more of Draco’s food. “Being on the team is pretty intimidating though. I don’t even know that much about Quidditch.”

“Stop talking with your mouth full of someone else’s food, you uncouth prick.” Draco smacked Harry’s hands away from his food and guarded his plate with his arms. “Honestly, I wanted to be Slytherin’s Seeker next year, but so long as we keep the Quidditch cup, I suppose I’ll content myself to basking in our House’s glory from the sidelines.”

“There are other positions that’ll open when part of the team graduates. Plus, you can always try out against me next year.” Harry suggested. He felt bad for taking Draco’s position without even trying. “If you’re better than me, I have no problem giving up my spot.”

He smiled at that. “I suppose I will.”

“Draco, if you want to disguise yourself as a Gryffindor, you can be our Seeker.”

Draco snorted. “I’ll pass. Red washes me out.”

“They don’t have one yet?” asked Daphne. Neville shook his head.

“Oliver Wood is having tryouts next week, but I’ve seen some of the people who’re gonna be there and they all suck.” Neville groaned into his hands. “We’re gonna lose so bad this season. It’s my first year and I don’t even have a good team to cheer for!”

“Sure you do.” Daphne said, catching a chocolate frog before it jumped off the table. “Slytherin! Imagine the look on the Gryffindors’ faces when they see you cheering for some lowly snakes.”

 _“I’ll_ certainly be in your stands,” said Hermione. “It’s not like I care about Quidditch, so why not cheer for my friend?”

“Thanks, Hermione.” Harry replied brightly.

The conversation changed to discussing professors when Pansy showed up, then complaints about homework and impromptu tutoring started up. At some point, Daphne dragged everyone to the sitting area outside for some “fresh air and nice breeze”, where Hermione valiantly tried to help Draco and Neville with Transfiguration while Harry, Theo, and Pansy worked on their Potions essays. They stayed there for a long time, alternately procrastinating with storytelling and actually working on their assignments. At one point, Daphne took pictures of them trying the bit of yoga that Hermione knew, and Theo stole the camera every now and then to take embarrassing and unflattering close-ups.

All in all, it was the best Saturday that Harry had ever had.

* * *

Harry was beginning to get the impression that he was doomed to having school year plagued by aggression.

He had been enjoying a simple dinner with his friends, talking to Pansy while Draco lectured Vince and Greg, and Hermione asked the others about wizarding primary school. It was all very ordinary until Harry’s food made the sudden decision to throw itself in his face.

“Oh Merlin, how clumsy of you!” A Hufflepuff that Harry had never seen before cried, a malicious smirk playing on his face and his wand very obviously pointed at Harry. Harry gave the boy a deadpan look while Pansy casted a quick _Scourgify_ and cleaned off his face.

“Just a bit of justice for that stunt in Potions class,” he taunted.

“Right.” Harry squinted. “Who are you?”

Draco snorted unattractively from his side. The Hufflepuff turned dark red.

“Zacharias Smith, you disrespectful little cretin. You sabotaged my cauldron when my back was turned.” Smith replied furiously. “I guess I shouldn’t have expected a snake to have the grace to accept not being the best.”

Right, it was all coming back to him now. Unfortunately for Zacharias Smith, Harry couldn’t care less about him and his Potions mark. In reality, Smith was an idiot who added chopped lemongrass instead of crushed and the subsequent explosion was completely due to his own ineptitude. Harry had only approached his cauldron to figure out the source of the bubbling and hissing potion so he could warn Professor Snape. He had gotten ten points for that.

“Disrespectful? I have plenty of respect.” Harry said coolly, eating a piece of Draco’s orange. He was kind of put out about losing his dinner. “I just don’t see why I should show any to a self-important prat.”

“Oh, you’re all talk, Potter. You wouldn’t be so mouthy if our wands were out.”

“No, I’d be much more mouthy. Spells tend to have words, you see.”

Smith turned an even darker shade of red and balled his fists at his sides. “Wizard’s duel tonight in the trophy room, if you think you’re so tough. Midnight.”

Harry blinked. Why did the wizarding world have to be a _society_ with so much _stuff_ to learn?

“What, never heard of a wizard’s duel?” Harry wished he had, just to wipe that stupid smirk off of Smith’s face.

“Of course he has,” Pansy cut in. “I’m his second. Who’s yours?”

Smith stared at her in surprise for a moment, then squared his shoulders and raised his nose in the air. “Finch-Fletchley. Midnight, don’t forget. If you don’t show, I’ll know you’re a coward.” And finally, Smith left them alone.

Draco rounded on Pansy as soon as Smith was far away enough. “You’re his second? Have you completely lost it?”

Pansy huffed. “Like he’s going to show! I bet you ten Galleons that he’ll be snoring in bed when Harry gets to the trophy room tonight.”

“Harry’s not going.” Hermione declared. “And neither are you, for that matter! You’ll end up dead — or worse, _expelled_!”

“They’re not going to expel a student for being out of bed after hours, Hermione.” Theo replied, rolling his eyes. “There wouldn’t be any students left to teach.”

“As much as I enjoy being lost while everyone bickers around me,” started Harry. “What is a wizard’s duel? And what’s a second?”

“A wizard’s duel is… well, a duel, but you can only use spells and there is absolutely no touching.” Draco replied, still looking frazzled. “The second takes over if you die.”

“That’s so stupid!” Harry cried. “If the Potions incident is anything to go by, Smith can’t even read! How is he going to manage to cast a spell that would kill me?”

“Nobody’s going to die!” Pansy yelled. “Duels don’t end in murder; they end in defeat! Murder’s a crime! I said I was Harry’s second to see if Smith knew that, and he clearly didn’t. He’s not going to show because he’s a coward and wouldn’t know what to do even if he _did_ turn up. Finch-Fletchley isn’t even his bloody friend!”

“So if you two go, you’ll just end up getting caught by Filch and Mrs. Norris! You can’t go. Harry, don’t go.” Hermione turned her most imploring look onto him.

Unfortunately for her, Harry didn’t very much like the idea. “No, I’m going. Smith probably won’t show, but I want to _know_ that he didn’t. I’ll keep an eye out for Filch, but I’m going.”

Hermione groaned.

“Far be it from me to stop you. I’m not your mum,” said Pansy easily. “But I’m not going with you. I have more interesting things to do than wander the castle at night. Like sleeping.”

“Well, he can’t go by himself!” protested Draco. “What if Smith decides to ambush him instead of duelling?”

“Smith isn’t showing up, I promise.”

“But what if you’re wrong and he does?”

“Then you can go with him!” Pansy waved her arms up in frustration.

Draco stiffened uncomfortably. “I can’t —”

“Don’t be a baby, Draco. I’m sure Harry will protect you if the need arises.”

He glared at Pansy, then glared at Harry. He looked back calmly; he didn’t _have_ to come. Harry was actually pretty sure that he could handle himself if Smith decided to show; he’d dealt with Dudley’s bullying for years before they repaired their relationship. Zacharias didn’t know the rules for duelling, so if he had to, he knew how to break a nose. He tried to communicate something to that effect by lifting a shoulder and giving Draco an understanding smile.

Draco, unfortunately, didn’t seem to get the memo. “Fine! Harry, you’re not leaving without me.” He pointed a stern finger at Harry.

“Alright. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure, you tosser. I don’t want to end up visiting you in the hospital wing.”

They ate dinner between Harry’s and Hermione’s questions about wizarding society. There really needed to be a class for it; he just kept getting blindsided by duels and etiquette no matter what he did. Hermione eventually gave up on stopping him from going to the trophy room, but did make him promise to be extra careful about Filch and Mrs. Norris. By eleven thirty, Harry was ready to go. He pulled back Draco’s bed curtains and laughed quietly.

Draco, for all his insistence about coming along, was fast asleep. Harry contemplated tossing him out of bed, but felt bad for thinking it. He gently, but firmly, shook Draco’s shoulder.

“Draco,” he whispered. “Come on, wake up. It’s time to go.”

He grumbled, but woke up easily enough. Yawning periodically, the two of them made their stealthy exit from the Slytherin dungeons and trekked to the second floor. Harry took in the moonlit corridors with silent awe, only to get yanked onwards by a nervous Draco. He was far less interested in looking at the way the castle looked and far too paranoid about finding Filch or Mrs. Norris in every corner.

Getting into the trophy room didn’t do much to quell his anxiety. Harry, on the other hand, looked in fascination at the cups, plates, statues, and other symbols representing various victories and achievements across all four of the Houses. Many were in gold and silver, looking ancient because of the dim lighting. He thought about how proud the recipients must have been, probably only a few years old than he was now. It made him feel much younger, more like a child than he had ever figured himself to be.

“He’s not here,” said Draco. His eyes flitted around as if Filch was hiding in the trophy case. Harry didn’t think the man was quite that dedicated to punishing students.

“Nope. Pansy was right, after all,” he replied. “At least we got to see the trophy room.”

Draco laughed, shockingly loud in the blanket of silence that the night had become. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more anxious in my life.”

“You didn’t have to come, Draco. I could’ve handled it if Smith decided to show.”

He waited until Harry looked at him, then shook his head. “Shut up. Let’s get out of here before —”

As if waiting for that cue, there was a noise in the next room. Harry and Draco froze to listen, Harry’s wand raised in defence.

“Sniff around my sweet, they might be lurking.”

Oh _great_. It was Filch talking to his bloody cat. Cursing his luck for the millionth time, Harry yanked the still-frozen Draco by the hand and they bent low to slowly and quietly get out of the gallery. They could both hear Filch whispering to Mrs. Norris, giddy with the idea of catching some students. The two got nearer and nearer to where Harry and Draco were sneaking past on a suddenly much-longer journey than arriving had been.

“I think they’re hiding,” whispered Filch.

The noise scared Draco into tripping, sending him right into a suit of armour. The metal clanged together in a thunderous roar even as Draco scrambled to get up.

“RUN!” Harry screamed, and they both sprinted out of the gallery faster than Harry had ever ran in his life. With Harry in the lead, they ran through a dusty, stuffy hidden passageway hidden behind a tacky old tapestry (which Harry took note of, for potential future reference) that spat them out in what looked to be the Charms area.

Draco, panting, leaned his back against the wall and slowly slid down. “I hate him. He and his bloody cat are far too interested in punishing children. It’s not like it’s our fault that he’s a _Squib_.”

Harry meant to start a row about that right there, where anyone could catch and punish them for breaking curfew, because Draco really shouldn’t have said that like “squib” was a dirty word, but there was a rustling down the hallway and as dread iced his veins, he realised that Peeves had stumbled upon them.

Peeves looked between the two of them with a gleeful smile. “Are those two mischievous children out of bed that I see?”

“Peeves, please,” he begged. “Don’t say anything.”

“What’s in it for me, Potty?”

He caught Draco clenching his fists out of the corner of his eye, but thankfully, he had enough sense to not say anything to set Peeves off. Harry prayed that his luck would hold out as he tried to deal with the biggest troublemaker at the school. “I’ll… owe you a favour.”

Clasping his hands together, Peeves grinned even wider. “Oh, having a big tough student in my debt? Very tempting, Mr. Potty, very tempting.” He winked. “But no thanks. CHILDREN OUT OF BED! SEXUAL DEVIANTS ENGAGED IN _UNSAFE ACTIVITIES_ IN THE CHARMS SECTION! CHILDREN —”

“PISS OFF, PEEVES!” Draco screamed right back. This time it was him who grabbed Harry’s hand and dragged him around more of the castle. He could hear either Filch (who would be a new class of wizard to have gotten there already) or another professor hitting their feet to the stairs in a sprint as they followed Peeves’ traitorous and shrill, alarm-like wails. It didn’t look good for them.

Making a sharp turn, they stopped at a closed door in an area of the school that Harry couldn’t recognise. Draco twisted the knob with hands that shook from the adrenalin or fear of getting caught. Or both. The door wouldn’t give, but Draco twisted it harder and threw his weight into it as the footsteps got louder. Thinking fast, Harry pulled out his wand.

“ _Alohomora,_ ” he whispered, tapping his wand against the knob. There was a low _click_ and Draco wasted no time twisting it open and pulling Harry in after him, slamming the door behind them.

The room was, naturally, pitch black. It didn’t seem like there were any windows, so Harry was hyper-aware of Draco’s quick, heavy breathing. Actually, now that he thought about it, it was far too heavy to be healthy.

“Do you have asthma?” he asked, voice just above a breath. “I don’t know if wizards have things like asthma, but your breathing doesn’t sound healthy.”

“What’s — wait, _I’m_ not the one who’s —” He felt Draco fumble for his wand. _“Lumos,”_ he said in a shaky voice.

A bright light like a torch came out of the tip of Draco’s wand, illuminating the shadowed room. Immediately, Harry noticed the heavily breathing, three headed monstrosity sleeping at the corner. To his horror, the creature stirred at the sudden light and opened its six dog-like eyes to stare right back at him.

He really wished he had been a sexual deviant engaged in unsafe activities in the Charms section instead of a dead, dead boy.

The creature pushed onto its hind legs and pounced, jostling its metal chain and only missing the two of them because of their quick reflexes. Draco choked on a scream and Harry felt the sort of adrenalin rush that he’d only experienced one other time.

*Harry was seven and Uncle Vernon had come home from work especially frustrated for reasons that Harry wasn’t privy to. He’d been chopping up vegetables for the Dursleys’ dinner when Uncle Vernon came in, twisted his hand into the back of his shirt, and hit him while screaming odd, nonsensical things that Harry couldn’t catch over the sound of his blood singing in his ears and flooding his mouth. At one point, a glint from the counter reminded him that the knife was still on the cutting board, well within Uncle Vernon’s reach if he wanted to use it. He hadn’t, but for those long moments before the attack ended, Harry had never felt more aware of himself, of his entire being and the fragile life filling his body.*

If he didn’t want to die then, he sure as hell didn’t want to die now. He threw himself at the closed door and scrambled to open it, spilling out into the hallway and closing his eyes in relief when he heard Draco run out after him and shut the door, the creature’s clanking chains and barks muffled behind it.

“This is the third floor corridor,” Draco said sometime after his own legs gave out and he sat pristinely on the floor.

Harry casted a tired _Colloportus_ at the door. “Is it?”

Draco sagged back against the stone wall. The creature was still growling from the other side. “And that was the door that Dumbledore wanted you to go into, I’d presume.”

Harry pressed his sweaty forehead onto the cool tile. “A prat, he is.”

“Yes, a right prat.” Draco agreed. “But the… thing… it was on top of some kind of hatch.”

He groaned. “We’re going to have to tell Neville and Hermione.”

“Why?”

“Because, you idiot, the Headmaster is hiding something and wants us to find out what, for whatever reason.”

Draco kicked Harry’s ribs without any real pressure. “The second being your friend has a body count, I’m out.”

“Entirely understandable.”

Later, safely back in bed, Harry stared at his ceiling and watched the shadows. Professor Dumbledore wanted him to go through a terrifying dog, a secret hatch, and into more unknown territory like he was some kind of highly-trained wizard professional. Great.

He dreamt of transferring to Beauxbatons.


	8. hallowe'en

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just got two reese's peanut butter cups for the price of one. we love bogos in this house. this chapter brought to you by reese's. (that is not true please don't sue me reese's)
> 
> in this chapter: quirrell is stinky. salazar's code of conduct is discussed. hallowe'en approaches. the slytherin dorms are in the dungeons.

Harry did not transfer to Beauxbatons — as inviting as it sounded to go to a school where the Headmaster didn’t want him to walk into mortal peril, he couldn’t speak French. Secretly transferring to one of the North American schools was out of the question too; while he figured he could sneak into France with enough dedication, the Atlantic ocean meant that he needed to take a flight. That wasn’t going to happen (did wizards have airports?), so Harry played the part of a normal student and attended his normal classes and did his normal homework for the next few weeks as he thought of a way to break the bad news to Neville and Hermione.

For his own part, Draco did the same, with the added routine of glowering at Professor Dumbledore at every opportunity. Harry tried to stop him the first time, but that just ended in a pointless and aggressively-whispered argument at the breakfast table that didn’t seem to be worth making him stop. In compromise, Draco had made sure that his dirty looks weren’t obvious to their friends, which was good enough. Dumbledore seemed to be unaffected, if he even noticed at all.

The following Sunday found Harry penning his weekly letter to Dudley in the library. He let his own frustration come out as he described the mystery.

_It’s weird, Dudley. There’s a huge dog with three heads (THREE!!) guarding the thing and he wants me to check it out anyway? Not going to happen. Honestly, I only want answers so I can see what in the world is worth risking my life over, but so far we have no leads. I want to just ask him, but… well…_

_He makes me nervous. Draco thinks I’m being paranoid, but I think he’s just blinded by how much he hates him._

_I don’t even know why he does, really. Most of Slytherin has something bad to say about Dumbledore, but Neville and Hermione and the other kids like Sarah and Hannah don’t seem to hate him at all. Maybe —_

“Oh good, you’re alone,” said a very irritated Ravenclaw as she planted herself into the seat across from him, a Gryffindor settling into the empty seat next to her.

“Hermione, Neville, hey!” Harry put down his biro and gave them a warm smile. “What’s goin —”

“You’ve been acting oddly for weeks, Harry!” Hermione whisper-yelled, mindful of their location but still very upset. “I won’t tolerate it anymore; what are you hiding?”

Harry took note of their concern and focused all of his attention on them instead of the letter. He’d finish it later. “I’m really sorry. I’ve been meaning to tell you both, really, but I couldn’t think of how to do it.”

“Are you okay?” Neville asked. Feeling guilty, Harry nodded.

“Yeah, yeah! I mean, right now I am?” He sighed. “Anyway. So you know that Smith probably told Filch that me and Draco went to the —”

“Draco and I,” Hermione corrected.

Harry conceded. “That _Draco and I_ went to the trophy room. That’s true, but we didn’t exactly… tell you everything. After we lost him, Peeves caught us. I tried to get him to keep quiet, but he didn’t, so we went off running again and ended up at the third floor corridor by accident.”

He sped up to keep Hermione from lecturing him about the forewarn dangers of being there. God knew she’d have even more reason to lecture him once he finished. “A professor was getting too close, so we ended up at a door and when we went in, there was this really big three-headed dog guarding a hatch on the floor. It tried to attack us, but we ran out as fast as we could.”

“A cerberus? Why is there something like that in the school?” Neville asked anxiously. He ran his hands through his hair. “Gods, what if someone else ended up in there by accident and didn’t get out in time like you and Draco did?”

Hermione looked similarly shaken, but squared her shoulders against her reactions. “Is that everything?”

“No.” Harry rubbed his scar worriedly. “Dumbledore summoned me into his office about a month ago and asked me about the friends I’ve made and stuff. But before I left, he warned me to not go poking around the third floor corridor and to focus on my classes. I thought that was weird because I _hadn’t_ been poking around, and he explicitly mentioned paying attention  to Charms, of all classes. When we found the door, the only way I could get it to open was by using the Unlocking Charm.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed in comprehension. “So by telling you that specifically, planting that idea into your head…”

“He was making sure that you’d get in there.” Neville finished uncomfortably. He kept one hand fisted in his blond hair. “I wonder what he’s keeping in there.”

“I wonder why he needs a child to figure out his puzzles!” Hermione exclaimed indignantly. Madam Pince’s gaunt and vulture-like face came into view almost instantly at the noise and she rushed to lower her voice lest she get kicked out. Or jinxed.

“It doesn’t make any sense!” she whisper-yelled once more.

Harry nodded. “We’ve been trying to figure out what’s in there. I’m not going to go inside, but I just… I need to know.”

They both seemed to understand.

“We’ll help as best as we can.”

“I can look around and talk to people,” Neville added. “I’m on pretty good terms with a lot of people here.”

“And Ravenclaw has the best library in the entire castle, so I can certainly follow up on anything you find.”

Harry gave them both a grateful smile, but couldn’t resist the opportunity for some ribbing. “Ravenclaw has the best library? That’s hardly fair, is it? The rest of us have to make do with the main library and books from our common rooms while Ravenclaw hordes all of the good stuff. Very rude, Hermione.”

Hermione fought a smile. “Please. As if the rest of you even know how to use a library. Did you know that wizards didn’t have an equivalent to the Dewey Decimal System or Library of Congress classification until a Muggleborn Ravenclaw invented it? Not that people properly credit her, of course! Yamilet Reyes couldn’t believe that wizards were just using _Accio_ for books and knocking things all around instead of organising them, so she…”

* * *

 Professor Quirrell’s class, much to Harry’s dismay, did not get any better. While Neville had mastered the Bubblehead Charm to keep the stench of the professor’s ghastly amount of garlic away from their poor noses, Quirrell had _Finite’d_ them at once, calling them a distraction. Harry just thought he was a prick who was personally invested in making their brains and noses miserable for as long as he could manage.

His offensive odour aside, his lessons didn’t pick up their pace in the least — between Quirrell’s incessant stuttering and issues with projecting his voice, it was hard to grasp any of the theory he was trying to teach, and they hadn’t even done _anything_ practical yet. Every class, Harry would look around for something interesting, only to find that most of the class had fallen asleep or decided to have side conversations with their backs to the professor. It was depressing, and by the end of September, his students were ready to revolt.

Worst of all, Harry had learnt nothing about what might be hidden in the hatch. Even with the help of his friends, the possibilities were far too endless and nobody else in the castle seemed to have the faintest idea about the true danger behind the locked door in the third floor corridor. It was beginning to look like they would need to go back to the cerberus, something that Harry wanted to avoid at all costs. It was just too dangerous.

* * *

 Hallowe’en was a much-needed reprieve from his anxieties. Yes, it was the anniversary of his parents death, but it was hard to be too down about it when the school was far more excited about celebrating the end of the Great Wizarding War and their normal Hallowe’en traditions. There was to be a celebration in the Great Hall that evening and most of Harry’s peers were buzzing with the news.

“It’s going to be great,” Draco assured him on their way to Potions class. Ever the dramatic, he was in his element with the upcoming party.

“I guess. I just don’t really care for parties,” replied Harry, walking into the classroom and taking his seat.

“That’s because you’re a philistine. One look at your hair and everyone knows you don’t have any regard for the nuances of social obligations and good aesthetics. Such a waste of a spot in our House.”

Harry just nodded indulgently. “Oh, of course. Everyone knows Salazar Slytherin’s three S’s; slyness, sensibility, and sex appeal. I should have gone into Hufflepuff instead.”

“As fascinating as I am finding this quick-witted discussion of Salazar Slytherin’s valued attributes, I do believe it is time to focus.” Professor Snape drawled sarcastically as he entered the classroom. Harry could swear he saw a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Today, you will be attempting to brew a Readiness Potion. Your essays have been marked, and those of you whose results were abysmal should prepare for the high probability of wearing your potion by the end of this session.”

Snape sent their essays onto their desks with a flick of his wand and went about spelling a new column on the blackboard. Every session where potions were actually made, he kept a running tally of the number of accidents per class. The winners on the highest or lowest end didn’t receive anything, but Harry figured it kept Professor Snape sane. From what Harry could see, the class before theirs had thirteen.

“We’re going to do excellently.” Draco’s voice snapped Harry out of his thoughts and he looked down at his essay. Despite some minor historical corrections, he had gotten an Outstanding. He didn’t need to look over to know that Draco had gotten the same — not only had they had written their essays together, but Draco’s excitement for the class hadn’t waned in the slightest. Confident, Harry made his way to the pantry to grab some holly and peppermint-infused water for the beginning of the potion.

And promptly ran into Zacharias Smith.

“Move,” he ordered.

Smith did not move. “Why should I?”

“Do you realise how dreadful your potions have been so far? I’ve half the mind to sue you for endangerment. You need all of the time you can get.”

This was the wrong thing to say, obviously. He knew that he shouldn’t rile up someone who was already aggressive, but it was just too easy to resist. Smith squared his shoulders and his not-insignificant frame did a good job of blocking Harry off completely.

“Oh please. The only reason why you do so well is because Snape refuses to take points from Slytherin. If we had a fair,  _real_ teacher, you’d do even worse than me,” he snapped venomously.

That was partially true. It was no secret that Professor Snape was biased towards Slytherin, but he wasn’t so biased that Harry had earned his marks unfairly. Smith was just bad at paying attention and even worse at reading comprehension. He opened his mouth to say as much, but was cut off before he could.

“If you’re quite finished harassing one of your peers, Mr. Smith, that will be ten points from Hufflepuff,” Snape announced tonelessly, but his glare was pointed.

Smith huffed, but moved out of the way. Harry took his time grabbing the necessary ingredients for the entire potion, rather than his usual method of grabbing them as needed, just to wind Smith up some more, then deposited them on the table with a serrated knife, mortar and pestle, kitchen shears, and a honing steel. Draco regarded the haul with one neatly raised eyebrow.

“Are you sure you don’t want to grab the rest of Snape’s tools? It’s not as though you’ve left much behind.”

Harry grinned and began grinding the holly. “I mostly just grabbed it all to get Smith angry,” he admitted.

Draco snickered, then poured the peppermint water into the cauldron and added two handfuls of freshly-chopped Bells of Ireland. “I can’t believe he’s still bothering you. Anyone with a semblance of self-respect would have moved on by now.”

The rest of class went smoothly, as it always did for the two of them. Vince and Greg avoided any incidents, in no small part due to Draco’s patient tutoring sessions with them, but others weren’t so lucky.

Molly McMullen ruined her Ravenclaw robes and her intricate curls when her cauldron exploded in her face (heated for a minute too long), Tracey Davis’ clumsiness led to a handful of loose and angry Singing Crabs, Seamus Finnigan dropped his glass phial, and Ryan Sherman accidentally swallowed some of his potion before it was finished settling. The resulting four tallies and lost points were to be expected, but he and Draco performed well enough to be allowed to take their potions with them.

As he was done with classes for the day, Draco walked Harry to his History of Magic class and spoke with Pansy to plan out the best possible time to use the potion while making the most of its one hour effectiveness. When Professor King walked in, Draco hadn’t decided yet, but dutifully slid out of the classroom to do whatever he did on Thursdays.

Professor King was doing a lecture in the wake of Tuesday’s underwater lesson (the room still smelled faintly of saltwater) that bored Pansy, ever the hands-on learner, to the point of doodling stick figures that she animated into doing some kind of dance performance. Harry enjoyed King’s lecture, especially with the side of two-dimensional entertainment, and his good mood followed him all the way to Transfiguration.

Harry took his seat to the side of Neville and Hermione and pulled out his books, just in case this was a theory lesson instead of a practical one. Professor McGonagall greeted the class curtly, but not unkindly, and wrote some notes on the board that everyone hurried to copy down.

“As we have discussed, it is impossible to transfigure an object into something that you don’t know intimately. If I were to attempt to transfigure this mug,” She held up her white tea mug. “into your Transfiguration textbook, you would find that pages within contained what I _believe_ to be in your books, not what is actually written. But even if you are intimately acquainted with the item that you are attempting to transfigure, there are some things that can never be successful. These are called the Five Principal Exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration. Can any of you name all of them?”

Predictably, Hermione’s hand shot up and she waved it slightly to get Professor McGonagall’s attention. The professor gave her a kind smile and an encouraging nod, so she cleared her throat and straightened up.

“The five principal exceptions are food and drink, currency, sentient life, magical objects such as wands or potions, and space.”

“Correct, Miss Granger, excellent work.” Hermione beamed despite the scattered mutterings. Professor McGonagall waved her wand and her tea mug swirled into a brown puppy.

“As you can see, my mug has been transfigured into a dog. It may behave like a dog, and it can very well remain permanently as such if I desired, but it is still, fundamentally, a mug. This illusion of life works with animals well enough, but it falls apart with more complex subjects. It is impossible to transfigure even a single-minded wizard, Muggle, or magical being.” She transfigured the dog back into a mug, much to Harry’s dismay. It had been cute.

“As for space,” Professor McGonagall did a much more purposeful gesture with her wand and transfigured her mug into a large painting of mountains. “Simply put, it is possible to expand existing space, but it is not possible to transfigure a rock into a forest. We will go more in-depth in later courses.”

Harry wrote that down, then frowned and raised his hand. Something had just occurred to him.

“Yes, Mr. Potter?”

“Does Gamp’s Law apply to other branches of magic? Because spells like _Aguamenti_ and _Aqua Eructo_ Conjure water into existence, which is drinkable.”

Hermione replied before Professor McGonagall could. “Actually, Harry, those spells are both Charms and Transfigurations. They don’t break Gamp’s Law because they take water from moisture in the air, rather than create it from nothing.”

“Merlin, Granger, we get it!” Ron exclaimed in exasperation, slamming his hands on his desk. His blue eyes stared at Hermione with fierce rage.

“You’re not the professor, so can you shut your big mouth for a minute and let her speak? Do you feel like you have to prove something? Show us that you’re better than all of us because you memorised the textbooks? _Nobody bloody cares!”_

The room went silent for a second, everyone’s eyes on either Ron or Hermione. Harry clenched his teeth, feeling pure rage at him for saying something like that about one of his friends. Hermione was a know-it-all, he’d never deny that, but she only ever meant well by it. Ron’s comment was for his common room with his mates, not an entire classroom.

With a whoosh of her robes, he felt more than saw Hermione run out of the classroom despite Neville’s comforting hand on her shoulder, head bowed and her things abandoned on her desk. It only fueled his anger more. He wouldn’t act now, but he _would_ act, and it wasn’t going to be pretty for Ron when he did.

“Are you quite finished?” Theo asked from his seat with his other friends. His voice and face were pleasant enough, but they reminded Harry of when Draco spoke to LeBlanc back in September. “Any other grievances to air while we’re in class? Perhaps your feelings of inadequacy due to your poor magical abilities? Your resentment for your parents’ poverty? What about your —”

Professor McGonagall finally put her hand up. “Enough, Mr. Nott! Ten points from both Slytherin and Gryffindor!”

“Pardon me, Professor, but Weasley decided that it was appropriate to verbally attack another student to the point of her absconding from the classroom.” He gestured at her empty seat. “My response was only in her defence. Yes, his face is putting all of its effort into becoming a tomato, but he —”

“I don’t care who started it, Mr. Nott, I am finishing it! Equal points from both of your Houses, and if I hear any more comments like that, it’s thirty more and a month of detentions!”

Nobody spoke about the argument for the rest of the class, but there was a thick, heavy tension in the room nonetheless. Many students casted side glances at Ron and Theo, the latter of which held his frustration in with such control that Harry almost didn’t notice the tenseness of his shoulders. Ron was clutching his quill in a white-knuckled grip and huffing and generally putting no effort in hiding his own anger, of course.

Harry saved his concern for when he’d see Hermione at dinner, but she wasn’t there when he sat at their spot at the table. Neville, Theo, and Draco were in deep discussion, so he served himself and sat by Daphne and Pansy.

“Have either you seen Hermione around?” he asked.

Pansy quickly took a sip of her juice before answering. “No. We heard about what happened in Transfiguration. She might be hiding out in her common room.”

“I’d be in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom if I were her,” Daphne chimed. “She’s embarrassed, she wouldn’t want people to see her. Nobody _ever_ goes to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.”

“Who’s Moaning Myrtle?” asked Harry. He had met Peeves and the Bloody Baron, of course, as weird as it still was to see real-life ghosts, but he couldn’t remember hearing about Moaning Myrtle.

“She haunts one of the girls’ loos upstairs. Other ones sometimes, but she’s usually in there. She’s absolutely dreadful; always crying and complaining about something. She’s nice if someone is crying in there too, though.” replied Daphne. She studied him for a moment and added, “Don’t go after her, Harry. She’ll be even more humiliated if you do.”

Harry supposed that was true enough. “Alright, I won’t. It’s too bad that she’s missing the feast and the party, though.”

“Of course it is. But that’s just even more reason to start planning our attack. Boys!” Pansy’s call got the boys’ attention and her smile was all teeth. “Anything yet?”

He looked over at Theo, Draco, and Neville curiously. The three of them looked very mischievous, though Neville seemed a little guilty. Not much, but a little. Theo answered, “Yes. Weasley is terrified of spiders. Neville’s his roommate,” he added as an aside to Harry.

“Acromantulas, or just house spiders?”

“House spiders. Everyone is afraid of Acromantulas.” Draco answered. “They’re huge, murderous beasts that want nothing beyond new prey.”

“Draco’s own fear of spiders aside,” said Harry. “About Ron. The only one better at Transfiguration than me is Hermione, so what if I turned his quill into a spider? Or maybe his cup, but that’d be harder.”

“Brilliant!” said Theo. “Do it in your DADA class if you don’t think you can do it on the cup. I’ll sneak in and watch Quirrell _and_ Ron have a fit.”

“Lovely, me too!” added Pansy. “Sometimes I wish I had him, just so I could make him squirm.”

The group’s chorus of _No, you really don’t_ was cut off by the Professor’s loud, rushed entrance into the Great Hall. He sprinted to the Headmaster’s chair, turban in total disarray, and panted, “Troll — in the dungeons — thought you ought to know.”

And promptly fainted.

The Great Hall was in shocked silence for a heartbeat, then went into chaos. Loud, exploding purple fireworks above each of the tables finally settled everyone down enough for Professor Dumbledore to speak.

“Prefects, lead your Houses back to your dormitories immediately!” he shouted. Harry and his friends stared at each other in horror.

“Doesn’t he realise that the Slytherin dormitories are _in_ the dungeons?” Violet shrieked.

The first year Slytherin table broke out into hysterics once again, everyone panicking over being sent to their potential deaths. Harry noticed Gemma and Basil pointing their wands at them, reducing their frantic questions to just under normal speaking voices.

“Panicking won’t do any good. Stick together, first years! Stay close to me, I’ll keep you safe!”

Harry and his friends stood with the rest of the first years and followed Gemma, passing other groups of students out of the Great Hall. Sticking with Draco and Neville, they kept their eyes out for a group of Gryffindors that Neville could join.

Abruptly, Neville whirled around with a pale face. “Guys — Hermione!”

Eyebrows furrowed, he opened his mouth to ask, then snapped it shut in realisation. His blood went cold. Hermione had no clue about the troll. She could be in danger.

“We can tell a professor. Snape, or maybe McGonagall.” Draco suggested, equally as nervous. “They can protect her.”

Harry checked frantically, but couldn’t see any professors near them. “There might not be enough time! We have to go warn her!”

Neville grimaced, but nodded. “I’ll go with you! You can’t go on your own.”

“None of us should be going at all!” cried Draco. He bit his lip in thought while Harry’s body shook with the need to move. Draco looked at the two of them and, after swearing under his breath, he continued. “I want to come with you, but I’ll find a professor first. Just don’t die on me, you reckless idiots! I’ll never forgive you!”

The three of them broke off from the group and Harry and Neville ran up the stairs to the bathroom. While it would normally move at least a little bit as children used them, the stairs were still this time, as if knowing that neither of them had any time to spare losing their balance.

“Hermione!” Neville called after reaching the bathroom door. “You need to get out of there!”

“Neville?” asked Hermione in a nasally and stuffy voice. Harry heard a loud sniffle. “Go away! This is the girls’ room!”

Huffing, Harry rolled his eyes. “I’d respect that if it was any other time,” he muttered to Neville, then opened the door and dragged him inside.

“Hermione, there’s a troll in the castle! You need to get out of here!”

Hermione poked her head up from between her knees. She had herself tucked into the corner of the room next to the sinks, which were making noises like the plumbing needed repair. Her clothes were rumpled and Harry would offer her a hug if they had that sort of time. “A troll? How did a troll get into the castle? They —”

“ _Hermione_ ,” he cut her off sternly. “No time! Let’s go before…”

He trailed off as he connected some dots in his head.

“Oh no,” Neville whispered.

That noise had not been the sinks. That noise had been an approaching troll, which was now close enough to have distinct footsteps and carry an utterly repulsive smell of grime and poor hygiene into the room. Harry took a moment to curse his luck and pray to God, Merlin, Circe, and the Hogwarts founders for a painless death.

Harry drew out his wand and Neville quickly did the same. Without her own, Hermione shrunk further against the wall. The troll’s rumbling grunts echoed as it stepped into the bathroom.

It was nightmare-inducing. Around twelve feet tall and stocky, its grey skin was glistening from a green, viscous fluid, its head wildly disproportionate and small. Its legs were thick and short and showed flat feet with dirty, overgrown toenails. It held a massive club that it began to raise as it drew closer.

Hermione let out a loud, petrified scream that Harry knew he’d be hearing in his nightmares. The troll turned its beetle eyes on her at the sound and advanced, forgetting about Harry and Neville for the moment. Hermione opened her mouth, but no more sound came out.

She was a liability, he thought, and he needed to get her out quickly if they stood any chance of surviving. Harry mentally thanked Professor Quirrell for teaching them some spells despite being useless, creepy, and currently unconscious. He formed a tight hold on Neville’s hand and, as he began to run to Hermione, he pointed his wand at the troll, rotated it in the practised spiral, and shouted, _“Fumos!”_

The bathroom flooded with thick, grey smoke that made him cough. It was much stronger than he had managed in class, but that worked to his advantage. He and Neville found Hermione through the smoke and dragged her up, running blindly out of the bathroom.

From behind them, the troll roared and swung its club in sharp arcs around the room, shattering the porcelain sinks and many of the stalls. They had almost made it out when the big wooden club landed just in front of them and forced them to skid to a halt.

 _“Finite Incantatem!”_ cried Neville, and the fog dissipated. In front of them was the troll, now furious. Before it could pick up the club to swing again, Neville fired off a Sticking Charm at the ground just beneath it.

While it yanked uselessly at the handle, Harry used _Flipendo_. The troll’s legs gave out and it teetered for just a moment, eyes wide and confused — before slamming to the ground with a thunderous boom that made the three of them scramble to maintain their footing. Harry and Neville kept their wands pointed for a few seconds, but it didn’t get up again.

Hermione was the first to speak in a thin, shaky voice.

“Is it — dead?”

“I don’t know,” said Harry. “I don’t think so. It’s probably just knocked out.”

She nodded, eyes still on its body.

There were shouts and several sets of footsteps from outside that made them all look up. A moment later, Professor Snape and Draco popped into view, followed quickly by Professors Quirrell and McGonagall. Quirrell regarded the troll, whimpered, and fell to his knees with a hand clutched to his heart. McGonagall and Snape levitated it with their wands to clear a path into the bathroom. Draco ran into the room and held onto the three of them for dear life.

Feeling his friends shaking, Harry belatedly noticed that he was, too. The four of them embraced tightly while Draco whispered threats at them for _not listening and getting into bloody trouble_.

“What on earth were you thinking?” demanded Professor Snape, face pale as a sheet and eyes furious. “Or were you not thinking at all? You’re lucky that you aren’t dead, you insolent brats! Why weren’t you in your dormitories?”

Draco let them go and Harry felt his heart sink at McGonagall and Snape’s disappointment.

“It’s because of me, Professor Snape. Please don’t be angry with them.” said Hermione earnestly before she began to babble. “I was upset with another student and I was hiding in here during dinner. They only came to warn me. I left my wand with my backpack — they saved my life, professors. I’d — I’d be _dead_ if they hadn’t come after me!”

“That’s correct, Professor Snape.” Professor McGonagall said, the rage bleeding out of her expression. “There was an incident with another student that led Miss Granger to running out of my classroom. I had assumed she would be recovered by dinner, so I didn’t look for her at the Great Hall.” She put her hands on Hermione’s shoulders and gave her a quick, strong hug. “I’m very sorry, dear, I should have been more vigilant.”

“It’s okay, Professor.” replied Hermione shakily.

Neville and Hermione began to speak to her while Draco and Harry turned their attention on Snape.

“I wanted to find someone, sir, but there was nobody in sight and I didn’t think there was any time to waste, so we split up and had Draco find you.” Harry explained, hoping that Professor Snape wouldn’t stay so angry.

Professor Snape sighed. “It seems that you were correct in this case. Miss Granger might not have been able to evade the troll wandlessly until our arrival. Ten points to Slytherin for quick-thinking.” At seeing Harry and Draco’s grins at each other, he added tartly, “But don’t think of making this a habit— do anything this dangerous again and you’ll have detention for the rest of the year.”

“Of course, sir,” Draco responded soberly. “We won’t do it again.”

Professor McGonagall walked Neville and Hermione back to their dorms while Professor Snape took Draco and Harry to the dungeons. Their friends bombarded them with furious questions about their absence, which led to Harry reenacting the battle with the troll for a large chunk of the Slytherin House over dinner (brought in from the Great Hall by house elves). He went to bed early after the adrenalin wore off and the food began to settle in his stomach, but he felt strangely more comfortable with himself and his life than he ever had before.

* * *

 


	9. operation: friends don't let friends get murdered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can i post everything i have on the drive before bio starts? whomst knows.
> 
> in this chapter: spiders tap dance as the slytherins get their revenge. harry has had one too many near-death experiences. snape is set ablaze. draco talks about ireland.

Ron Weasley’s cup at breakfast the next morning was only saved from a terrible fate because there was something in it and Harry couldn’t transfigure something he couldn’t see. So despite the number of expectant glances at a young, clueless redhead in scarlet and gold, nothing happened at breakfast.

And since Harry wasn’t in the mood for stalking — and okay, mostly because Ron deserved public humiliation because Hermione very well could have died just because he couldn’t keep _his_ big mouth shut — nothing happened over the break before morning classes either. Ron Weasley and his little Gryffindor friends remained none-the-wiser all the way until the start of Defence Against the Dark Arts, when all hell broke loose.

“Ron apologised for what happened yesterday,” Hermione said when Harry sat down, voice bewildered but pleased.

“Great, Weasley isn’t completely heartless,” replied Draco with an eye roll. “Somebody firecall _The Daily_ _Prophet_ , it’s a miracle.”

“Oh, shut up, Draco!” She punctuated this with a light smack on his arm, ignoring his affronted gasp. “He really meant it, I could tell! It isn’t like he wanted the troll to come after me, but he still apologised that it happened.”

“G-g-good morning, st-students,” said Professor Quirrell, setting his things on his desk. He pulled out the attendance sheet and began to take roll.

“Quivering Quirrell is going to have the fright of his life,” Draco whispered to him. “Do you think he’ll faint again?”

“I keep telling you that Quivering Quirrell is a stupid nickname,” Neville replied as he ducked his head closer to theirs.

Harry held back a laugh. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he did, though; Noah Porter’s _Periculum_ made him knock over an entire stack of books.”

Professor Quirrell really was a delicate man, and Harry felt guilty about using his class to scare someone with a spider. Not enough to stop, though. He finally finished roll call and Harry waited, calmly writing his notes while Draco and Neville’s legs jumped with nerves.

Sure enough, Harry felt two light poking charms at his back. Turning slowly, he saw Pansy and Theo sneaking in behind Quirrell’s back (in Hufflepuff robes, for some reason), settling themselves in the empty seats that Daphne had saved for them. The stage was set. It was time.

Harry pulled out his wand from his backpack and subtly pointed it at Ron in the front of the classroom. He stared at Ron’s quill and thought of the spiders he had seen in his cupboard, only bigger. He envisioned the base of the quill compressing into the body; the feathers extending into long, narrow legs; its small, inky black eyes…

It was an excellent transfiguration. One moment, Ron was writing lazily, the next, he was holding a huge house spider. Harry gave himself a mental pat on the back, knowing that Professor McGonagall would certainly not be impressed. Ron, for his own part, managed to remain silent for a second or two before flying out of his seat and screaming bloody murder. His tablemates didn’t fare much better.

The spider began to do a little jig, sending Ron’s table into further distress. Harry had certainly not been the one to cast the spell, but a quick glance at Pansy’s satisfied smirk gave him a pretty big clue on who had.

At the ruckus, Professor Quirrell turned around from the board and wheezed out a shallow breath at the sight of the spider, then fainted in a heap on the floor. The part of the class that had realised that Harry’s transfigured spider wasn’t dangerous watched Quirrell hit the floor and began to laugh or cheer (or both). Someone gave the spider tap shoes and a top hat.

Harry kept himself together as Draco and Neville began to tear up, pushing back the urge to laugh as best as he could in order to answer Hermione’s indignant shouts such as, _“Harry James Potter, I know it was you!”_ and _“Did you do it for me?”_

The doors swung open and Harry quickly reverted the transfiguration as a worried Professor Deacon barged into the room, his dark robes slightly singed around the edges. The gossip from people who had him for Defence was that he did a lot of practical lessons and paired students up to practise casting. Harry wished he had been so lucky as to have a useful Defence teacher, but then, he also wished that the Headmaster didn’t want him to be eaten by a three-headed dog in a locked room; it seemed that his wishes were simply too unrealistic.

“What is going on?” asked Professor Deacon in his deep, rumbling voice.

Draco stopped laughing quicker than Harry thought was humanly possible. “Professor Quirrell fainted, sir,” he replied in his Proper Pureblooded Student Voice, which was his normal voice, but without a smirk. “He saw Ronald Weasley’s quill, mumbled something about spiders, and just collapsed.”

“Spiders,” Professor Deacon echoed. He peered at Quirrell’s unconscious, garlicky form.

Draco nodded solemnly. “He has a lot of hallucinations, sir, but this is the first time he’s fainted from one. Quite unfortunate, really.”

“Yes, it is rather sad.” Professor Deacon said this in a way that indicated that he did not think it was very sad at all.

Theo and Pansy slipped out right after Professor Deacon _Rennervated_ Quirrell, who adjusted his big turban and blushed crimson while he muttered his thanks. He continued to teach as though nothing had happened, but pointedly avoided standing too close to any quills. Harry and his friends responded as any smart students would, and made a barrier of quills around their table, named Mount Protection, to keep their noses from being assaulted by the worst of Quirrell’s repulsive stench. If Harry was also doing it because Professor Quirrell still made him uncomfortable, nobody needed to know.

Ron approached their group after class ended, alone and shifty-eyed with a tense frame. Draco opened his mouth, but Harry put a hand on his arm to shut him up. He was too quick to insult people. It was far more advantageous to listen rather than make enemies at every turn.

“Hello, Ron,” he greeted neutrally.

“The thing with the spider,” Ron started, straight to the point like a true Gryffindor. “You did that. It’s because of what I did to Hermione.”

Harry nodded and Ron nodded back slowly, like he’d expected to hear that. “I get it. We’re even now though, right? I embarrassed her and I got embarrassed in return.”

“Surprisingly commendable of you, Weasley.” Draco remarked. Harry could hear the newfound respect in his tone, but Ron would likely just take offence.

“We’re even, Ron,” he interrupted smoothly. They shook on it, Harry’s olive hand to Ron’s pale and freckled one, and went their separate ways.

* * *

 The next two weeks went on like normal. The chill of November had arrived in full force at Hogwarts and the dungeons had to be regularly maintained with warming charms to keep the cold out. Every morning, the grounds had a thin layer of frost glistening over the magically green grass. The mountains in the distance had turned whitish with the change of weather and most days, the brightness of the scenery made Harry’s eyes burn.

Quidditch practice was interesting. It wasn’t really anything like any sports Harry was familiar with, although he admittedly didn’t know much about them in the first place. Hermione had persuaded him to read _Quidditch Through the Ages_ to help fill the gaps in his knowledge, and he’d proclaimed that the wizarding world was ridiculous immediately after finishing it. All seven hundred fouls had been committed during a match in 1473 and, most disconcertingly, referees had a habit of disappearing and reappearing in the Sahara Desert.

As odd as this new world was and as cold as practices were, Harry still enjoyed being on the Quidditch team. Marcus Flint wasn’t book smart by any means, but he was witty, clever, and scarily good at creating plays. He took every player’s skills and desires into account when he held practices, delaying or rescheduling if someone had detention or other obligations, and he threatened any of the (admittedly few, as the House prided itself on self-preservation) Slytherins who dared to comment on Harry’s blood status or ability to play on the team.

The other members were equally interesting. Both of their Beaters were girls, which wasn’t the norm, but Idella Ailstock and Lynwood Pollard were muscular, intimidating, and fantastic at their positions. They, like the rest of the team, warmed up to Harry instantly and filled him in on anything he didn’t understand. Miles Bletchley, their Keeper, wasn’t a wordy person, but he shot encouraging smiles at Harry or patted him on the back after a particularly good practice.

Terence Higgs was the loudest of the bunch and did _not_ hate him for taking his Seeker position. He had a smile on his face no matter how cold it was outside and teased everyone on the team with the same wittiness as Flint. Sometimes, he’d sit with Harry in the main common room and chat with him about his classes like an older brother. Harry liked him a lot.

Daniel Featherfield was their other Chaser and fairly private, but easy-going enough to be likeable. Just one year older than Harry, he seemed the most like a peer rather than an unreachable adult. His girlfriend, a second year Hufflepuff named Harper Blackwood, stayed during practices sometimes and gave the whole team hot chocolate or snacks to warm them up, which certainly helped his opinion of Daniel just by association.

Besides Quidditch practise, Harry spent a lot of his time hanging out with his friends. A big portion of their hanging out consisted of procrastinating on tedious assignments until Hermione threatened bodily harm, but they managed to organise themselves well enough to play games and laze around often enough.

The morning of his first Quidditch match arrived much sooner than Harry had anticipated. It was just as bright and cold as yesterday. The Great Hall smelt of sausages, pancakes, and other good-smelling breakfast things, and students chattered cheerfully about the upcoming match.

“Have you decided on a name yet?” Draco asked mildly.

Harry’s eyes snapped up from their intense gaze on his eggs. “What?”

“You’ve been petting your breakfast with your fork for the past five minutes. I had assumed you’d finally cracked and decided to make it your new pet.”

“Stop teasing him.” Hermione chastised, then turned her eyes on Harry. “You need to eat something.”

“I know. I’m just…”

“Nervous? It’s okay to be, you know. But you need your strength.”

Harry forced himself to eat a sausage. It was delicious, so he ate another. Hermione and Draco went back to whatever conversation they had been having while Neville and Daphne studied their Herbology assignment with proper protective equipment in case it decided to attack. He continued eating until he looked down and found his plate empty. Hermione gave him a bright, proud smile.

Eleven o’clock found almost the entire school in the Quidditch stands, many with omnioculars to help them see the players better. All four Houses’ stands were packed in red or green, but there was an obvious flash of blue, red, and yellow in the green Slytherin stands.

Pansy, Daphne, Theo, Greg, Vince, and Draco sat up in the top row with Neville, Hermione, and Harper Blackwood. Each of them had a pair of the omnioculars, courtesy of Draco’s father. Daphne was taking pictures like a woman possessed, partly because it was a milestone for Harry, but also partly because it was _her_ first Quidditch game, too.

With Draco, Neville, and Pansy’s help, Hermione created a large banner that read, “GO HARRY!” and “GO SLYTHERIN!” with a little snake. It flashed between the two sayings and faded back and forth between silver with green lettering and green with silver lettering every few seconds. The charms to do it were supposedly quite tricky, but the four of them had managed it.

Meanwhile, Harry and the rest of the team changed into their green robes in the locker room.

Flint cleared his throat for silence and Harry tried to regulate his breathing.

“So, first game of the year.” Flint started. “The Weasley twins are good, but I know that Ailstock and Pollard can handle them.”

Idella and Lynwood puffed their chests out proudly and nodded their agreement.

“Featherfield, focus on Alicia Spinnet. She’s good, but her guard’s always weaker on her left. Higgs, Katie Bell is easy to rile up; taunt her as much as you can and it’ll ruin her game. Leave Johnson to me.” He looked at Harry and patted him on the back. “Harry, your job is to relax. Nathaniel Starling is nowhere near as good as you and he’s too interested in everything else going on during a match. Just focus on the Snitch and everything will be fine.”

Harry released a long, controlled breath. If Flint thought he could do it, he damn well was _going_ to do it. He smiled shakily, but determinedly, at an approving Flint.

“Great. With that, it’s off to our first match. Good luck everyone; we’re going to _destroy_ Gryffindor today.”

Harry walked out of the locker room with the rest of his team and stepped onto the field to the sound of loud cheers.

Madam Hooch was the referee for this match. She stood in the middle of the field between the two teams, broom in hand.

“Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you,” she said, particularly to his team. Flint gave an unapologetic shrug. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his friends sitting in the stands with their GO HARRY! banner. He grinned and waved in their general direction.

“Mount your brooms, please.”

Harry slid onto his Nimbus Two Thousand like he had so many times already. Fifteen brooms rose up high into the air, moving into their respective starting positions. Harry hovered in front of Nathaniel Starling, who scowled at him.

Madam Hooch blew her silver whistle. They were off.

“And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor. What an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too —”

“JORDAN!”

“Sorry, Professor.”

Lee Jordan was the commentator for the match, under the stern watch of Professor McGonagall. Harry didn’t really know anything about him, so he listened in as he scanned around for the Snitch.

“And she’s really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood, upgraded from a last year reserve — back to Johnson and — no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle! Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes — Flint flying like an eagle up there — he’s going to sc —nope! He’s stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood, and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle — large thanks to Chaser Katie Bell, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and — OUCH! That must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger — Quaffle taken by Slytherin — that’s Terence Higgs speeding off, we can see that his time as a Seeker has really helped his agility — and he’s blocked by a second Bludger from either Fred or George Weasley, can’t tell which is which — nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson’s back in possession, a clear field ahead and off she goes — fantastic dodge of a Bludger — the goal posts are ahead — come on, now, Angelina — Keeper Bletchley dives — misses — GRYFFINDOR SCORES!”

The stands were a cacophony of sound, but the general noise was more of a cheer than a boo.

Harry frowned and did a few loops to clear his head. His job was to worry about the Snitch, not the other players. Nathaniel Starling, however, was much more involved with the game.

“New Gryffindor Seeker Nathaniel Starling coming in after news of Slytherin possession. Chaser Higgs dodges two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds towards the centre goal post — Starling is surveying the scene in front of him — Higgs passes the Quaffle to Flint — Wood dashes to save the left goal post and — Slytherin scores!”

Harry allowed himself a small clap alongside the cheers from the Slytherin fans and continued his loops around the pitch.

“New Slytherin Seeker Harry Potter is looking pleased with the news as he keeps his eye out for the Snitch. Gryffindor in possession — but Spinnet drops the Quaffle after dodging a Bludger from Beater Idella Ailstock — Featherfield grabs it and Slytherin’s in possession once again — Starling is yelling something at Spinnet, can’t hear him — and he zips in front of Featherfield, making him drop the Quaffle! Gryffindor flies off to gain possession!”

Harry caught a flash of gold from the side of the Gryffindor stands and shot off like a rocket. Starling was too far away to catch it, he knew, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

“Slytherin Seeker Potter shoots through the sky — could he have seen the Snitch? — one of the Weasley Beaters sets up a shot at Higgs and — Starling snatches the Beater bat and _SWINGS_ right towards — !”

Right towards Harry. He swore rather colourfully, locked his thighs around his broom, and dropped his upper body towards the ground. In a whoosh of air, the Bludger soared through the place where his back had been and passed him. He swung himself upright and looked frantically for the Snitch, but it was gone.

A roar of rage emerged from the Slytherin fans — Starling had committed a foul; Harry couldn’t remember the name of it, they were all just so stupid.

“Foul!” Someone screamed, in case he didn’t know that stealing a player’s Bludger bat wasn’t part of the rules.

Madam Hooch yelled at Starling and ordered a free shot at the goal post for Slytherin.

“So — Starling takes a page out of Slytherin’s book and nearly kills an eleven year old —”

“Jordan!”

“— which could happen to anyone, I’m told. A penalty to Slytherin, taken by Higgs, who narrowly scores past Keeper Wood, and we continue playing, Slytherin still in possession.”

It was as Flint got his first foul of the game, which was bound to happen eventually, that everything got weird. Harry’s broom gave a sudden, violent lurch, and he gasped with the fear that he’d fall off. He grabbed it with his hands and legs locked, eyes blown wide. This had never happened to him before.

Then it happened again. Harry wanted to tell Flint to call a time-out, but he found that he couldn’t control his broom at all anymore. It moved in random, jerky motions like it was…

Like it was trying to throw him off. Harry’s heart fell somewhere into his stomach as he realised that he was currently the victim of a murder attempt.

Lee was still commenting.

“Slytherin in possession — Flint with the Quaffle — passes Spinnet — passes Bell —hit hard in the face with a Bludger, hopefully another broken nose — kidding, Professor! — Slytherin scores again! The game is now seventy to thirty for Slytherin. Dammit, it is not looking good for Gryffindor right now…”

The stands broke out into more cheers. Harry’s broom-turned-murder-weapon slowly moved him higher and higher, far away from the pitch and clearly spelling out death if he ended up losing his grip. It started to roll over and he wrapped his entire body around the vibrating broom, cursing his luck. Three near-death experiences in three months was far too much for his young heart to handle.

“Harry!” a voice shouted. Terence came into view and Harry thought he could see one of their reserve Chasers taking over his spot.

“Terence! I think someone’s trying to murder me!” he yelled back frantically.

“What? Never mind, give me your hand! We’ll get you on my broom instead.”

Harry reached out to grab Terence’s hand as best as he could without being able to move his broom. The broom shot straight up and flew another twenty feet higher before Harry could get into grabbing range, and the motion was nearly enough to send him falling to the ground. He screamed so hard that his voice gave out. Thick, frightened tears sprung into his eyes. He didn’t want to die a gruesome death by a cursed broom.

Suddenly, there was a huge commotion in the teachers’ section of the stands. At the same time, Harry’s broom stabilised as if nothing had happened. Terence brought him down and pulled him tightly into his arms and Harry hugged back weakly, all of his strength sapped out of his bones. He gathered his bearings with his temple on Terence’s shoulder just as something caught his eye. He reached out his hand, two trembling fingers clasping bright gold.

“I’ve got the Snitch!” he shouted, waving his hand above his head as Terence gave the Snitch a shocked look, then threw his head back and laughed.

“Potter finally back in control of his broom — Higgs brings him closer to the ground and hugs him in a surprising display of compassion, and Potter — Oh no… Potter has the Snitch! Slytherin defeats Gryffindor one hundred and ten to thirty! Oh, what a sad day for Gryffindor!”

Terence, not entirely trusting Harry’s broom to not try to murder its owner again, guided him to the rest of the team with a firm hand on the handle. The team whooped loudly when they reached the ground and pulled him into a celebratory group hug while exalted cheers erupted from the Slytherin fans.

“Good job, everyone!” Flint shouted warmly. “Bletchley, I’ve never seen you do better — six blocked goals! And Potter, good job holding onto your broom. And that Sloth Grip Roll when Starling came at you! We’ll make sure Snape checks your broom for anything odd; I know that wasn’t your fault.”

He chatted with the rest of the team for a bit longer, congratulating each other, before their friends were allowed onto the field. Harry saw his ever-expanding friend group sprinting towards him.

“Harry!” cried Hermione, throwing herself into his arms with Neville close behind. “We were so worried!”

“Let him go, you fiend.” Draco scolded without any malice. “He’s probably overwhelmed from all of the excitement.”

Hermione complied, but not before whispering, “Reference section of the library as soon as you can,” into his ear. Nervousness bubbled in his stomach.

Neville wiped at the tear tracks on his face and Harry gave him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. Neville sniffed and seemed to try to pull himself together.

“Are you okay, Harry?” asked Harper, eyes concerned and almost motherly. “Everyone in the stands was frozen — Flint called a time-out so Terence could go after you.”

“It was a smart move,” added Pansy in an unaffected tone. She hid her worry well, but Harry could see it through the small cracks in her composure. “He was a Seeker, so he can move faster on a broom than any of the other players and his reaction time is much quicker.”

“Flint’s a good captain,” he said agreeably. He wasn’t going to call her on it. “And I’m fine, Harper, just shaken up. Professor Snape is going to check on my broom to see what went wrong.”

Hermione’s lips thinned, so Harry ended the conversation with a final once-over from his friends and showered and changed in the locker room.

* * *

Draco was waiting for him when he came out. They fell into step and started walking to the library.

“Do you know something about what happened with my broom?” he asked as they walked. Draco nodded.

“We’ll explain, but Hermione thinks that Snape’s trying to kill you.”

Harry frowned at him. “If Professor Snape wanted me dead, he’d just switch out one of our ingredients in Potions and distract you so I would be the only one to blow up.”

“You’ve thought a little too much about how he would kill you.” Draco observed. Harry shoved him lightly and he threw his hands up in frustration. “You’re all so abusive! Neville makes fun of the nicknames I come up with, Theo was _born_ embarrassing me, you and Hermione push me around — I don’t deserve this kind of treatment.”

“Hermione will help you draft an appeal to the Friendship Board for new companions. All you have to do is ask.”

They entered the large reference section of the library, thankfully deserted since the Quidditch match hadn’t ended that long ago. Neville and Hermione were whispering to each other when the two of them slid into the empty seats at their table.

Harry used a silencing charm as best as he could in an open space. “So Professor Snape is trying to kill me?” he prompted.

“Draco thinks I’m crazy, but I know what I saw!” Hermione replied earnestly. “When your broom started to backfire, Neville said that it looked like dark magic. I looked at the teachers’ stands first and I noticed Professor Snape mouthing something while he _stared_ at you, so I sneaked in and set his robes on fire —”

“You set Snape on fire?” asked Harry incredulously, mouth agape.

“It was all I could think of at the time!”

“Do you _normally_ see teachers and think that setting them on fire would solve your problems?”

“Shut up! I didn’t know what else to do! You were in danger!”

“So you’d set a teacher on fire just to help me?” He was disturbingly touched.

“I’d set the entire _castle_ on fire if it would save your life, you idiot!”

“That’s very nice, Hermione, but not the point!” Draco interjected. “After Snape turned sufficiently crispy and stopped looking at you, your broom stopped trying to murder you. What she’s failing to acknowledge is that she distracted _all_ of the professors. It could have been any of them!”

“Nobody else was saying anything under their breath, Draco.” Neville added diplomatically, obviously trying not to rile either of them up.

“We have absolutely no way of knowing that! There are too many teachers for Hermione to have made sure that every single one besides Snape was completely innocent.”

“We have to look at the facts, Draco!” Hermione was getting riled up now. “And the facts are that Snape was maintaining eye contact like you’re supposed to when casting, Harry’s broom was going haywire, and everything went back to normal when he broke the contact. It was him!”

“I’ll ask him.” Harry declared. Three sets of eyes looked at him like he had declared himself the Heir of Hogwarts.

“I’m pretty sure that nobody would admit to trying to murder you if you just asked them.” Neville said slowly, like he was speaking to a toddler.

“Obviously, Neville.” Harry rolled his eyes. Honestly, he wasn’t an idiot. “But someone tried to kill me in a very public space; telling Snape that he’s a suspect isn’t going to put me in any more danger than I’m already in. If I talk to him, I’ll at least be able to see how he reacts. I probably won’t get a read on him, but it’s worth a try.”

“I suppose it _is_ worth a shot.” Hermione agreed hesitantly, gaining more confidence as she continued to speak. “You’re in quite a lot of danger as it is, and it’s not like he can punish you for accusing him. At the very least, we’ll have the upper hand. Snape can’t very well try to kill you or Obliviate you in private because he’d have no idea who you’d already told, and it’d just incriminate him further. It could work.”

Neville and Draco agreed after, the latter much more readily than the former since he believed Snape to be innocent in the first place. Harry did too, really, but he had to be certain.

“Do you think this has anything to do with the thing on the third floor?” he asked, voicing the concern that had been nagging at his mind since the whole thing happened. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

“It would make sense,” Draco said. “We think it’s something valuable, so Dumbledore might have someone trying to get it. I don’t know how they’d know that _we_ know about it, though. Unless Dumbledore said something — I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“We’re going to have to work even harder to find out what’s in the hatch, then,” replied Neville. “Hagrid’s the school’s groundskeeper, so I bet he’d tell us how to get past a cerberus if we say it’s for research or something.”

“It’ll have to wait until after winter hols,” Hermione said in a strained voice. “We just have too many exams to afford to take the time to head over there. I don’t want Harry in danger, but I don’t want any of us to fail out of school either.”

“I’ll talk to him while you’re all at home.” Harry volunteered. “I’m staying here for the break, so I’ll have plenty of time.”

Hermione and Neville gave him a pitying look. They had been sad to learn that Harry wouldn’t be going home like most of the school, while Draco had reasoned that it was much more fun in the magical world than the muggle one. He hadn’t told any of them the truth about the Dursleys. They assumed from his letters to Dudley that they were a close family and he wasn’t interested in changing that perception.

It wasn’t that bad, and it wasn’t like they could do anything anyway. They didn’t need to worry about something they couldn’t change. Besides, a bunch of fifth years and seventh years were staying for their Ordinary Wizarding Levels and Examinations for Advanced Wizardry, and Theo was staying behind to work on an assignment for one of his classes. He’d hardly be alone in the castle.

Harry left the three of them in the library to study for their Astronomy exam and made his way to Professor Snape’s office, broom in hand. The dungeons were quiet like the library, most students in their common rooms or at a club instead of roaming the halls. He had never been inside before, so he was more than a little curious when he knocked on the door and heard a muffled, “Come in.”

It was just like any other office Harry had ever been in, with a large bookshelf along one of the walls and calendars and notices neatly tacked on the wall behind the chestnut brown desk that Professor Snape was sitting behind, marking a large stack of papers. He looked up and put down his quill when Harry came in.

“Mr. Potter, I see you’ve brought your broom. Leave it over there.”

Harry placed it where Snape had directed, leaning it against the bookshelf. “When will I get it back, sir?”

“I’ll check it for dark magic after I finish marking these assignments. Likely in a day or two.”

He nodded, then hesitated. Professor Snape narrowed his eyes and raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Mr. Potter?”

“You can just call me Harry, you know. Most schools don’t make teachers call students by their last names.” He slowly took a seat across from the desk, just in case Professor Snape to tell him to stop.

Professor Snape gave him an odd look, but nodded. “If you insist. What is it, Harry?”

Using Harry’s name made Professor Snape seem less unknowable and distant, and more like… not a parent, really, but a potential ally, or a friend. It made Harry’s chest pang a little. He knew quite well that he had a desperate desire for a good parental figure, someone to quiet his worries and care about him like the Dursleys never had. It wasn’t his most appealing personality trait and he tried his best to keep it from clouding his judgement.

“You knew my parents, didn’t you?”

Harry normally had an uncanny ability to assess a situation and keep his mouth shut when appropriate. Sometimes, like with Smith, he couldn’t help but let out a snide comment, but his impulse control was remarkably better than most people in his age bracket. Growing up with abusive guardians with hair triggers had firmly stomped out any sort of ignorance about picking up another person’s mood. He was good at reading a situation and even better at finding the most neutral thing to say if he couldn’t.

Which was why he was so disturbed that such a question had come out of his mouth. It was not what he had meant to say at all. He briefly wondered if his common sense had been knocked out of him after the match, then if Professor Snape was going to finish the job and use the Killing Curse on him before Harry could combust with embarrassment.

Professor Snape looked briefly taken aback, and far from the relaxed man he had been throughout their short conversation. “Who told you that?” he asked flatly. Clearly defensive. Harry cringed inwardly.

“Nobody,” he replied as calmly as he could. Getting loud and babbling would only make the situation worse; he’d already said far too much. He came up with a lie as quickly as he could manage. “I just figured. You look around how old they’d be, if they were still alive.” After a pause, he added, “I didn’t mean to assume, I’m sorry.”

Neither of them said anything for a long time. Harry wiggled one of his nails into the lateral nail fold of his right thumb before it got too sore and he had to stop. He really had said too much. He blamed the lapse of judgement on his sudden desire to get to know Professor Snape and lamented his good impulse control. At this rate, he wouldn’t survive his next run-in with death.

“Lily was my best friend.” Professor Snape spoke so softly that Harry almost missed it. He didn’t dare ask about his father.

“What was she like?” he asked in an equally quiet voice. He had never heard anything good about his parents — besides information on their wands from Mr. Ollivander, if that counted.

Professor Snape took a deep breath and locked eyes with him. There was a depth to his features that Harry didn’t have the ability to decipher, no matter how perceptive he prided himself on being. He recognised the grief, at least; he was probably seeing Lily in Harry’s face.

“A lot like you,” he replied with the gravity of a man at a confessional. Harry didn’t understand right now, but he made note of it. Maybe he would someday. “Too insightful for her own good, kindhearted, and studious. She… She would have been very proud of you.”

Harry smiled, the tension in his body bleeding out. “Yeah, I’d like to think so.”

“Haven’t your guardians told you about her?”

He rolled his shoulders and tried to think of what to say without blurting out the truth, keeping his face pensive and sad as he looked at the bookshelf. Harry still wasn’t going to tell anyone about the Dursleys if it could be avoided. It never did him any good.

“No, not really,” he admitted. “I think my aunt sees my mum when she looks at me. Almost all of her immediate family is dead, but she needs to keep it together for me and her son. I can’t blame her.”

It was the most truthful thing he could say, though he wasn’t sure if the abuse was Petunia’s way of grieving or her way of gloating that she had outlived her older sister. He slumped in the chair, feeling more drained than he’d intended when he had come in here.

Professor Snape watched him like he didn’t entirely believe him. He put up with the scrutiny with the same bitter amusement that he’d employed every time a teacher approached him in primary school and asked him if everything was alright in his home life. Everything was perfectly alright, so long as nobody butted their nosy heads into it — then it became very dangerous as soon as the phone call ended or the Dursleys came home from a parent-teacher conference. He only had a few more years left, and he was going to try to make them as painless as realistically possible.

He’d apparently passed Professor Snape’s test. He pushed aside the childish disappointment that he hadn’t noticed, had failed just like everyone else had. It was fine.

“My friends don’t like you overmuch,” he said, back on task. He had almost forgotten his motivation for speaking to Snape in the first place.

“You’re referring to Miss Granger and Mr. Longbottom, I presume. I do hope that wasn’t supposed to surprise me — most students in the other three Houses have a special place in their hearts for their distaste of me.”

Harry shook his head. “Oh, it’s not that, sir. They think you’re trying to murder me.”

“What?” Professor Snape’s voice turned shrill, a hand rubbing at his hairline.

“Hermione saw you staring at me and mouthing something, so she panicked and set you on fire. In the chaos that ensued, so I’m told, my broom stopped doing its best to send me plummeting to my death. It’s a good case; all logical and everything.”

“I didn’t try to kill you, you idiotic wretch!” Snape shouted, hands flying into the air. “I was trying to save you! I was using the countercurse so you didn’t immediately lose your grip! She could have _caused_ your death if the actual caster hadn’t been distracted by all of the commotion!”

Harry felt a strong wave of relief. “I know, sir. Well, I don’t, really, since I only have your word for it, but I really, really don’t _think_ you were trying to kill me. You don’t seem like the kind of person who would do it in front of the entire school. I didn’t think about you casting a countercurse though, so thank you for that. It was hard enough to hold on as it was — it would’ve been impossible if you hadn’t helped.”

Rage bled out of Professor Snape’s face lightning quick, replaced by concern. “Are you alright?”

Disturbingly, Harry found that he wasn’t sure. His hands had started shaking in his lap and he couldn’t make them stop.  “I think that the gravity of the whole dying thing has finally hit me and now I can’t stop rambling. Not a particularly useful defence mechanism, that. You know, this really isn’t what I had in mind when I accepted my invitation to Hogwarts. Do you make all of your students face their mortality?”

Snape pulled out a crystal phial from his desk that read, _Calming Draught 07/09/91_ in his meticulous cursive and put it within Harry’s reach. The bottle and blue liquid within glittered from the light in the office.

“No, thank you. I’ll be fine later. It’s not like this is my first near-death experience. Professor Dumbledore sent me straight into one and I didn’t panic like this. I was mostly annoyed. Oh, bugger. I didn’t mean to say that.” He stopped talking, a mortified blush red-hot on his face.

Predictably, Professor Snape asked, “What are you talking about?”

Nearly dying did not help Harry’s skills at knowing when to shut up. His mouth pinched in frustration. “You know, I have a few concerns about the cerberus in the third floor corridor. Is it fed regularly? Walked? It’s just chained up there.”

It was an answer without being an answer and Snape instantly understood, stilling like a statue. He wasn’t surprised at the information, so Harry wondered just how many people knew about Dumbledore’s penchant for putting dangerous creatures in locked rooms. Was this a regular occurrence?

He found his breathing had begun to shallow out and shifted his focus to keeping it steady and his heart rate normal. This delayed stress reaction was very inconvenient.

“How do you know about that? Did you go looking for it?” Snape was reining in his temper at the idea, eyes flashing and nostrils flared, but only just.

Harry wished that had been that case. “Of course not. I’m not actually an idiot, you know. I don’t know why everyone thinks I am. The Headmaster not-so-subtly hinted that I check it out. I wasn’t going to, not being an idiot and all, but Draco and I ended up in there by accident when we were running from Filch and Mrs. Norris. We think Professor Dumbledore wants me to find whatever it’s guarding. I don’t really want to, but it’s probably connected to the thing with my broom, so I don’t have much of a choice.”

“Professor Dumbledore told you —” If he was mad before, he was properly enraged now. He pinched the bridge of his long hooked nose and drew in a purposeful breath.

“Who else have you told about this?” Professor Snape looked grave, anger set aside for the moment. He thought that Snape should have a bit more faith in him. He was great at keeping secrets.

“Draco, obviously, and Hermione and Neville. They wouldn’t dare tell anyone else. They didn’t even tell the rest of our friends that they knew my broom had been cursed.”

“That answers the question of Mr. Malfoy’s glares at the Headmaster. We were at a loss about it,” he muttered, then said with conviction, “Harry, if you don’t listen to anything else I tell you, listen to this; do not try to unravel this mystery. I will handle it. This is no business for four first year students.”

Harry set aside his own pressing emotions since they were going nowhere productive — especially the hysteria, that was making him lose it — and focused on the situation he had landed himself in. It was a mess, but not an unsalvageable one.

He hadn’t completely trusted an adult since his very stupid lapse in judgement when he was five and he wasn’t about to make that mistake again. Professor Snape meant the best, and Harry wasn’t opposed to befriending him, but adults couldn’t be trusted to keep promises, especially if they were good ones.

But Professor Snape wouldn’t accept that as an answer, he could tell. He was going to act his arse off.

“But the Headmaster seems sure that this is something that I need to do,” he countered, keeping his voice on the edge of hopeful and looking at his tremor-free hands. He wouldn’t dare try to trick Professor Snape like this while looking him in the eye; he wasn’t delusional enough to think it’d ever work.

Snape shook his head, wispy black hair fanning out. “I will deal with him, don’t worry. Focus on your exams, Quidditch, and whatever else you dull your brain with. The situation is under control.”

That was Adult Speak for, “I have no idea what I’m doing but I don’t want to worry you”. He put more stock into his theory that all adults were given a book on what to say when things went wrong. It was weird how they always said the same things.

He took the blatant lie in stride. Snape could lie as much as he wanted so long as he didn’t catch on to Harry’s own deception. “Okay. Thank you, sir.”

Harry stood up and left without further instance. Panic eventually caught up to him though, and he sat on his bed in the (thankfully) empty dorm room, knees curled up into his body, for quite some time. His breathing came in an uneven staccato no matter how hard he tried to relax, so he gave in and let himself sink into the fear.

“Are you okay?” Came Draco’s voice, jolting Harry from his trance. He was already tired of being asked that. He lifted his head from his kneecaps.

The room was dark now, and while it was dark more often than not at this point in the year, he could safely assume that he had fallen asleep at some point. It had been daytime when he stumbled into the dorm.

“What time is it?” he asked, voice hoarse and scratchy.

Draco sat on the bed, just in front of Harry’s drawn knees. “A little after six.”

Harry groaned. “I’m missing dinner.”

“You were gone for a while,” Draco said in agreement. “Hermione was positive that you’d been murdered, but the school has wards that would let all of us know if that happened.”

“We do?”

“We’re not _barbaric_ , Harry.” He leaned forward and frowned. “Now, what’s happened to you? You look terrible.”

“Ever the flatterer,” he drawled, but reckoned it was the truth. He certainly felt terrible. “Snape didn’t try to kill me, I’m pretty sure.”

“Of course he didn’t. Is that what you’re upset about? I thought you agreed with me!”

Harry shook his head. “No, it wasn’t that. Nothing happened, really. It’s just… I’ve nearly died, more than once now.”

Draco seemed to ponder that for a few moments. “All four of us have now, haven’t we? I never thought about it. Even with the dog, I think I…” He cringed. “I was afraid about getting hurt, but I never thought about dying. I thought we were invincible.”

“We’re not,” Harry replied morosely. “We aren’t at all.”

Harry felt warmth on his knee and noticed Draco’s hand there, pale but alive. He allowed the relief of that to relax him enough to tip his head back against the wall. He appreciated the resulting silence. Neither of them could think of a response to what he had said, but that was okay. Harry didn’t think he wanted to hear one anyway. They sat there comfortably, their breathing synced and the gentle ebb and flow of the Black Lake outside lulling Harry’s tense frame into loosening.

“I know we’re not.” Draco’s voice was pitched low when he broke the silence. “But you’re okay, and I’m okay, and Hermione and Neville are okay, and we’re going to catch whoever is trying to kill you and get Dumbledore fired for treating us like pocket Aurors.”

“They wouldn’t fire Dumbledore; he’s a war hero.”

“In a war that he waited until the last minute to join. Besides, he’s endangering children. Either they’ll fire him or you can come to Durmstrang with me. My father can convince Neville and Hermione’s families about it.” He paused. “Do you speak Norwegian?”

“No.”

“Hmm. I’ll teach you.”

He found himself smiling at the ceiling. “Why don’t we go to America or Canada instead? They speak English.”

“Have you seen what they’ve done to Quidditch? Absolutely not. Australia and New Zealand are better, I suppose, but they’re too far away. My mother would fret until she pulled something.”

“I was thinking of Beauxbatons,” he suggested. “After we found the cerberus.”

“ _Je peux parler français_ , so I’m certainly open to it. Their blue robes would go well with my colouring. Not yours though, so maybe not. Oh, Ireland has a well-respected school!”

“What is it?”

“Fingal Academy for the Magically Gifted. It’s a fantastic school. Their Headmaster owes my family a favour, so we won’t have to wait to take the entry exam.”

Harry perked up a little. “They have an entry exam?”

“It’s for the _magically gifted_ , Harry. They test your magical core and your dedication to your studies, among other things. I’ve heard that they keep you for three days in order to make a final decision. The examiner makes you use a different wand while you cast as many spells as you can on various objects around the testing room, then…”

“It’s plausible,” Hermione reluctantly conceded when Harry told her and Neville about his conversation with Snape.

“It’s the most plausible,” replied Harry. “We can keep him in mind, but he doesn’t have a reason to want me dead and he seemed honest about being offended by the whole thing.”

Though Hermione did make initial judgements based off of her personal feelings, she wasn’t one to let those feelings blind her if information was sufficient, so she gracefully accepted the conclusion. Neville, convinced enough to at least keep his doubts quiet, frowned thoughtfully.

“But if it wasn’t him, then who was it? Nobody really seems to have it out for you.”

The four of them thought hard about all of their professors. Harry had suggested the idea of it being a student, but they couldn’t imagine any of them being able to cast a curse so powerful that Snape couldn’t completely cancel it with his countercurse.

“Yeah, I can’t think of anyone who —” Harry stopped. Maybe he could think of one professor.

“What is it?” Draco, Hermione, and Neville asked in nearly perfect unison. It was almost frightening; they really needed to spend less time together if this was going to be the result.

“I can’t look Professor Quirrell in the eyes,” he confessed slowly. “The last time I did, he… he made my scar hurt.”

He frowned and picked at his nail beds. “But I dunno. He doesn’t seem particularly dangerous. I mean, he fainted over a spider; wouldn’t he be tougher, if he was that powerful?”

Draco tapped his fingers on the table for a few seconds, then closed his hand into a fist. “Not if he was clever, and I know he was. Father researched all about him when he was announced as a new Defence teacher. He travelled across the world as a cursebreaker for about decade, even won awards for it; that’s why people were so excited about him.”

That certainly cleared up one mystery on Harry’s list. Draco continued. “He disappeared for a few years and came back with that stutter and the big turban. If people think he’s harmless now, he can mostly roam the castle freely. Nobody would think he was brave enough to hurt them even if he wanted to. He could steal the thing from right under everyone’s noses.”

“He must’ve been looking for whatever is in the castle during the years he vanished.” Hermione added, scribbling rapidly into her journal dedicated specifically to _Operation: Friendship_ (officially _Operation: Friends Don’t Let Friends Get Murdered)._

“It can’t be money,” Neville mused. “Or at least, not something worth a specific amount of money. He had international acclaim, so it’s not like he needed money so much that he’d sacrifice his reputation for it.”

“It has to be magically powerful, then. Something as legendary as the Elder Wand.” Draco paused to let Hermione write that down. “I don’t want to say that it’s definitely Quiverus, but there has to be something off about him if he’s making your scar hurt.”

“Does it hurt any other time?” Hermione asked, spinning her quill in her hand.

“I know of some herbs that might help,” Neville added helpfully.

Harry smiled at both of them. “Thanks, but no. It’s only ever with Quirrell, and I don’t look him in the eyes anymore, so it doesn’t bother me at all.”

He took a surreptitious sip of the juice he had smuggled into the library. “I’ll send owls over break. Hopefully I’ll learn enough from Hagrid for us to work with. We’ll have to be careful though — Professor Snape specifically told me not to worry about any of this.”

With that, Harry dropped the silencing spell and spent the rest of his day brainstorming possible legendary artefacts, then ones that the school could realistically guard. From there, they all reasoned, it would simply be a matter of separating the truth from the fiction. By the time they had run out of familiar stories, Harry felt a headache coming on.

* * *

  **LEGENDARY WIZARDING ARTEFACTS**

 **Cups/Chalices**                               **Body Parts/Organs**

Cup of Jamshid                             Hand of Glory

Cup of Heracles                            ~~Ichor~~ (?)

Nanteos Cup                                Flesh of Ningyo

                                                    Bronze Head

 **Containers**                                     **Stones**

Horn of Brân Galed                       Adder Stone

 ~~Excalibur~~                                       ~~Stone of Destiny~~

Hamper of Gwyddno Garanhir      Resurrection Stone

 **Substances**                                    **Books**

Eitr                                               Book of Thoth

 **Miscellaneous**                              Rau _ð_ skinna

Cloak of Invisibility    Tablet of Destinies _  
_

Elder Wand

* * *

Unless Hagrid had some _very_ good information, Harry was doomed for a painful, bloody death by the end of the school year. He made a note to plan out his will accordingly.

 


	10. choo choo train (reprise)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if mary brought you here, hi! if she didn't, still hi!
> 
> in this chapter: christmas is here. harry meets a friend. a mirror causes a lot of drama.

Christmas came abruptly, likely since most students were too invested in exam preparation to notice the smaller changes. The lake froze solid, and one morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to its grounds covered in a thick sheet of snow that refused to melt. Harry and Hermione introduced their friends to the wonders of ice skating on the lake while the Weasley twins, a pair very well-suited for Slytherin, were punished for charming snowballs to follow Professor Quirrell around and pelt his olive turban. The weary professor only shouted his distress once Draco and Harry skated over and sneaked in a spell that turned the snowballs yellow. The Weasleys gave them bright, earsplitting grins, and happily took credit for the disaster.

Unfortunately, no amount of heating charms kept the Slytherin dungeons completely warm, which led to a lot of crowding around the fireplaces in the common rooms and packages of charmed clothes and blankets from worried parents. Draco’s mum was kind enough to send heated robes and winter cloaks for Harry and Hermione, as their own families couldn’t purchase them, and the new cloaks became Harry’s staple pieces whenever he had to venture outdoors.

Perhaps the most interesting part about the coming break was that the British Wizarding World wasn’t celebrating Christmas at all. In fact, when Harry mentioned it, Draco had absolutely no clue about the holiday. Instead, purebloods and half-bloods were excited for Yule. The decorations themselves weren’t too different from what Harry was used to — holly, mistletoe, and ivy were pretty normal, as was the holiday tree — but the castle found itself illuminated in every corner by charmed candles, strings, or faeries in jars. The brightness had reached the point where it was hard to tell the time of day without looking out of a window.

“It’s to combat the darkness,” Draco had explained in the main common room, putting down his book for a moment. “We used to believe that the Sun would extinguish itself in the winter, like a log in a fire, so we’d light candles and hold bonfires to heat it back up. Obviously, we know better now, but the traditions remain.”

Gift-giving for Yule was the same as Christmas, thankfully; gifts could be anything that the recipient would want, but was traditionally something that would offer happiness, warmth, and light. Having never been tasked with buying gifts before, Harry was slightly overwhelmed at buying things for seven people and having to do it through Owl Post. If he was being honest though, it was a nice problem to have.

Break began the day after exams and most of the school left with its arrival. A good number of fifth and seventh years had remained for OWLs and EFAWs, but that didn’t do much to alleviate the absence of so many other students and professors. The sheer size of the castle became plainly apparent to Harry as soon as he saw his friends off. He swore he could hear his own heartbeat thudding in his eardrums at all hours of the day, no matter where he went to find noise. The lack of liveliness in a place usually so exciting made him restless, so he gave in and sought out the school groundskeeper three days ahead of schedule.

Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. It was easy to envision taking a stroll there during summer, but trudging through thick, cold snow in late December was neither quaint nor picturesque.

Harry firmly knocked on the door and pulled his gifted cloak tighter around his body, his other hand trying in vain to rub some feeling back into his cold nose. Scarcely thirty seconds later, a deep voice called out, “Back, Fang — back! Come righ’ in!”

A strong gust of wind chilled Harry’s already-frozen cheeks, as if he needed further incentive to open the door. He hurried inside and shut the door behind him, but snow managed to sneak in regardless.

Calling it a house had been too generous — as far as he could tell, it was more like a studio flat. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling (for some reason), a copper kettle was boiling something in the fireplace, and in the corner was a patchwork quilt draped over a bed large enough to fit Harry, Hermione, Draco, and Neville all together. Various papers and objects cluttered most of the tables, and the lighting was a bit low, but it felt… warm. Well-loved, unlike the organised mess and magazine-quality state of the Dursleys’ home.

Hagrid’s large and hairy form stood in the sitting area with both meaty hands clinging to the collar of a massive, struggling boarhound, clearly too preoccupied to look at him.

Harry took a steadying breath in the face of another animal threat. “I — I can come back later, if this is a bad time…”

“No need! Fang’s a good dog, he won’t hurt yeh none. Jus’ loves people, he does.”

Hagrid let go of the dog before he could make his escape, and he found himself horizontal and trapped by black fur faster than he could blink. Fang’s excited panting was disgustingly damp on his face as he licked at Harry’s ears.

“Please get him off of me,” Harry wheezed, his mind immediately running through memories of his Aunt Marge’s vicious dog chasing him with murder in its eyes while the adults laughed and drank, like it was evening entertainment to watch a seven year old scramble up a tree to avoid snapping jaws and sharp, sharp teeth.

“Oi, Fang, that’s enough.”

Hagrid’s voice was too fond to have noticed Harry’s pending panic attack, but, oddly, it seemed as though Fang had. The dog slowly and calmly removed itself from his chest, gingerly nuzzling into Harry’s side once he was upright again. Taking deep breaths, he gave Fang a thankful head rub and looked back at Hagrid…

… who was not as he had left him. He seemed to have been deeply moved, mouth opened wide as he stared at Harry in disbelief. He didn’t think it had anything to do with the dog, but he couldn’t think of anything else that would elicit such a response.

“Harry? James an’ Lily’s boy?” His voice was thick with his unshed tears. Harry gave him a slow nod, not wanting to do anything sudden in the face of so much emotion.

“Oh, Harry,” he whispered, the tears finally spilling over. He walked over shakily and wrapped his big arms around Harry’s body in a tight embrace, seeming not to care about the melted snow in Harry’s hair and on his clothes, nor the dog slobber on his ears.

“Yeh got so _big_. Yer mum an’ dad would be so proud, Harry, so proud…”

Dumbledore’s words from months ago hit Harry like a Bludger to the face and he hugged back as best as he could. Hagrid had known his parents, but more than that, he had known _Harry_. Someone who had cared about him before the disaster on Hallowe’en meant everything to him, especially someone so clearly happy to see him again. His fingers curled around warm brown fabric and Hagrid’s long hair whispered across his right cheek.

“Look at me, gettin’ me tears all over yer nice clothes,” Hagrid said with a weak laugh, finally ending their hug. He scrubbed at his wet cheeks. “It’s so good to see yeh. I knew yeh were here, but I thought yeh musta been busy with classes, so I didn’t wanna bother yeh. Tea?”

“Yes, thank you.” Harry replied, still a bit disoriented with how off-script this conversation had been going.

At the wave of one large arm towards the sitting area, he took the hint and sat down while Hagrid busied himself making tea. Fang settled himself at Harry’s feet and seemingly fell asleep as soon as his head rested on his boots.

“Dumbledore told me yeh were in Slytherin?”

He nodded even though Hagrid couldn’t see him. “Yeah. I’m on the Quidditch team, too. Seeker.”

“Good at Quidditch just like yer dad! He woulda been heartbroken to hear that yeh’re playin’ for Slytherin. He loved cheerin’ for Gryffindor.” He paused in pouring the cups, as if thinking upon what he had just said. “Never thought yeh would end up with the snakes. Everyone musta been shocked ter hear tha’! You’ve made friends, right?”

Hagrid came over and sat the tea, milk, sugar, and some odd-looking biscuits on the table. Harry nodded and added some milk and sugar to his tea. “A lot of my friends are in Slytherin, but I’m friends with a Ravenclaw and a Gryffindor too. Hermione’s close to two Hufflepuffs in our Herbology class, and I like them well enough. I’m trying to have friends outside of my own House. It’s important.”

Harry had found that there were actually differences in the states of mind and thought processes from House to House, like the Sorting Hat had said, and he could only imagine how much more pronounced these differences would become over the years. He didn’t want to be such a narrow-minded person, so the obvious solution was to have friends who thought differently from him. Pansy called it networking, Harry called it personal growth.

“What’re their names? The Slytherin friends, I mean.”

The odd-looking biscuits were almost certainly rocks. Harry dipped one into his tea so it wouldn’t chip his teeth. “Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott, and Daphne Greengrass.”

Hagrid had a thoughtful look on his face. “Malfoy… Well, I reckon he’s not his father, if yeh’re friends with ‘im.”

Harry felt a twinge of annoyance at the amount of scrutiny Draco had dealt with from non-Slytherin people just because of his father. “No. Neither am I, for that matter.”

“‘Course not, Harry. Sorry to make yeh feel uncomfortable. Plenty o’ people in Slytherin grow up into normal people; jus’ hard ter remember that sometimes, is all.” He gave Harry a wide smile. “And yeh’re not yer father. He didn’ think like you do when he was yer age. More like yer mother, I reckon, minus the temper.”

Unfortunately, the more Harry inferred about his father from avoided subjects and tales of his pranks, the less he thought that James had been a good person by any definition. He actually seemed to have been a bit of a jerk up until his best friend betrayed him. Harry shuddered at the thought of one of _his_ best friends betraying him like that and decided to stop thinking about it.

“Maybe,” he conceded. “But I was wondering… I know you know a lot about magical creatures, so what do you know about a cerberus in the school?”

Hagrid dropped his teacup. Fang snorted awake and began to lick the spilt tea. “How do you know about Fluffy?”

“Fluffy? Its name is _Fluffy?”_

Yeah — he’s mine — bought him off a Greek chappie I met in a pub las’ year. Dumbledore asked to borrow him to guard the —” Hagrid cut himself off abruptly. “No, that’s top secret, that is.”

“Dumbledore seems to think otherwise. He wants me to figure this out.”

“Rubbish,” said Hagrid gruffly. “Dumbledore’s the greatest wizard o’ all time, an’ a good man besides. He wouldn’t want yeh snoopin’ around Fluffy.”

“But there’s someone after it! Someone who wants it so badly that they jinxed my broom and almost killed me!”

There was, of course, the possibility that there were two separate people with those separate agendas. Nobody should have any idea that Harry knew anything about the third floor corridor besides his friends, so it was possible that one person wanted him dead and another wanted the treasure under the hatch. Still, Harry doubted it, and he needed the information, so he wasn’t about to correct himself.

“Rubbish!” Hagrid repeated. “I don’ know why yer broom acted like that, but yer — yer _meddlin’_ in things that don’ concern yeh. It’s dangerous! You forget that dog, an’ you forget what it’s guardin’, that’s between Professor Dumbledore an’ Nicolas Flamel! Dumbledore has the whole thing under control…”

Hagrid ranted for several more minutes about how Under Control the whole situation was and Harry pretended to listen with a suitably chastised expression. In his mind, however, was only one thought.

_Who is Nicolas Flamel?_

* * *

 When Harry pushed aside his bed curtains on the 22 of December, it was to a huge pile of packages in the middle of the dorm room. Theo looked up from his croissant and grinned excitedly.

“Happy Yule!” he shouted through a mouthful of food, which was the least composed Harry had ever seen him.

“Happy Yule,” Harry echoed, scrambling to put on a bathrobe to warm him up. He plopped down next to Theo. “You have a lot of presents.”

“A good chunk of them are yours, Harry.” replied Theo with a snort.

“I’ve got presents?”

“Of course you do.” Theo gave him a meaningful look, but just like the incident with Harry’s spelled bed curtains, didn’t ask any questions.

They picked their own packages out and made their own piles, Theo rolling his eyes at every enormous package made out to him. The first parcel Harry opened was wrapped messily in brown paper with Spellotape and read in messy writing, “To Harry, from Hagrid”. Inside was a picture of his parents in their Hogwarts years with three other Gryffindors, all of them grinning from ear to ear in their graduation robes. It was a wizarding photo, so four of them waved and laughed at Harry while the fifth made bunny ears behind his parents’ heads, winking conspiratorially.

He definitely had his mother’s eyes in both colour and shape, but he also had her nose and smile. He had the same hair, jawline, and skin colour as his father, but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes behind his rectangular glasses that Harry had never seen on himself. He turned the photo over in his hands, its frame roughly-cut and clearly made by Hagrid himself.

_LEFT TO RIGHT: Peter Pettigrew, James Potter, Sirius Black, Lily Evans-Potter, Remus Lupin_

So Sirius Black was the one who made the bunny ears. The one who had killed three of the people in this photograph. It was hard to picture him doing something like that with the way he pulled James’ head into his neck with simple affection, something Harry himself would do with Draco or Neville if he was a touchy person. He set the photo down gently before he got too upset.

His gift from Pansy was a container of Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion, which confused him until he read the note attached.

* * *

_Harry,_

_Your hair definitely needs the taming, but I’m mostly giving this to you because your grandfather, Fleamont Potter, invented it. It has “interesting effects” on redheads — dare we try it on Weasley if he steps out of line again?_

_Happy Yule, Harry. Pansy xx_

* * *

 Dudley had gotten him a Muggle magic trick kit that Harry laughed at. Theo gave him a piece of obsidian shaped in a pyramid with a gold wire cushion. It was no larger than the palm of his hand and he frowned at it, trying to understand what it was.

“Obsidian’s good for removing negative energy,” Theo said casually, flipping through the _Layman’s Guide to Animagi_ that Harry had purchased for him. “It’s supposed to eliminate fear from bad memories.”

Theo didn’t draw any attention to the fact that he seemed to know more about Harry’s home life than anticipated, probably because he was a Slytherin and understood the need to never seem weak, so Harry put it and the picture frame from Hagrid on his bedside table, then

continued going through his presents.

He received a thick navy blue blanket from Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy and wrapped it around his shoulders as he read their note of well-wishes and hints for him to visit the Manor. Daphne’s package popped festive glitter in his face and on the new blanket. When he managed to scrub most of it off of his face and onto the floor (he’d clean it later), he couldn’t resist a bewildered smile at the Quidditch goggles inside.

* * *

_These goggles are charmed to correct your eyesight, so you can put them on instead of shoving your glasses over your old ones. I don’t know why you didn’t think of it before, honestly. Using a sticking charm must’ve been a pain. I wasn’t sure which colour you’d like, so I just got them in grey._

_I hope your break is going well! My mum and dad say hi, and my sister would if she could focus on anything besides the Yule feast. She actually_ likes _cooking, isn’t that weird? She’s ten, for Merlin’s sake! The house elves hate it. Anyway, I hope you like them. Happy Yule!_

_Daphne x :)_

* * *

 Surprisingly, he had a gift from Harper Blackwood. The package looked like it was wrapped plain silver paper, but it changed colours upon touching it. He felt almost mournful when he had to rip it off.

Harper’s note was a sweet well-wishing and a reminder to have _fun!!!_ over the break. She had made him a box of chocolate fudge (from which Theo immediately stole a piece) and given him a sticker book. He couldn’t tell whether or not the stickers were handmade, but he stuck a flashing, “KOOL KID” one on Theo’s forehead and moved on. Theo, of course, wore it with pride.

Harry finally made it to his gifts from Neville, Draco, and Hermione. They had envelopes attached that were dated from last night, so he was pretty sure that they had something to say about Nicolas Flamel.

As Harry opened his package from Draco, he wished he could see the look on his face when he opened his own and saw a Muggle science kit with the words, _Magic Science: for Wizards Only!_ ; it would be priceless, he was sure. At least Draco would probably write to him about it later.

The unassuming package held a huge amount of magical paints. He turned the bottles around in awe, watching as their colours changed or reading how the labels promised _perfect night skies_ and _authentic scents of orange peels_. He set aside the letter with Hermione and Neville’s, to read after he finished.

It seemed that Neville, Hermione, and Draco had all coordinated their gifts to Harry, because Neville had gotten him thick drawing paper and Muggle pencil crayons. Hermione’s gift was practical, but still thematic. She had gotten him two books; one about Muggle art history, the other about Magical art history. He found himself curious to learn the differences that had evolved.

Finally, it was time to read the letters.

* * *

_Harry,_

_Are you having a good time at Hogwarts? It must be nice to explore the castle without so many people in the halls. My parents are beyond ecstatic to have me home, and it’s nice to be back. It’s weird though; I’m so used to being surrounded by magic that looking at our static photographs and microwaves feels almost… foreign, now. Hopefully, being home will bring me back to my roots._

_Does that make any sense? Maybe not._

_I’ll be checking my copies of_ Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, Notable Magical Names of Our Time, _and_ Important Modern Magical Discoveries _for any mention of Nicolas Flamel_. _I’ve read the books and don’t recognise the name, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t in any of them. There were quite a lot of names, to be honest._

_I’ll write back if I find anything. Happy Christmas, Harry!_

_Hermione_

* * *

_Dear Harry,_

_Mother asks that I start this by telling you that she wishes you a happy and cheerful Yule. Father is off finishing some last-minute paperwork before the feast, but he wishes the same. I hope you like the paints — they’re much more interesting than that Muggle stuff you had._

_Aunt Andromeda’s family is coming over in an hour or so to join us. She has a daughter who goes by Tonks (she hates being called by her first name), and I think the two of you would get on well. She graduated last year and she’s in Auror training now. The whole thing is really quite pedestrian for someone like her and she’s so uncoordinated that I’ve no hope for her passing the stealth portion. Time will tell, I suppose._

_Anyway, about Nicolas Flamel. The house elves haven’t found anything in the library yet and Mother won’t answer any of my questions. The name sounds familiar though, so I’m sure to find something soon enough._

_Talk to you soon. Try to avoid getting into trouble until I’m back, okay?_

_Draco_

* * *

_Harry,_

_I hope you’re having a good break! I still think you should’ve gone home, but staying behind is having its benefits right now. I don’t know a Nicolas Flamel and neither does Gran, but I’ll keep checking for information._

_You could try asking some of the portraits if they know anything. They just kinda hang there on the walls, listening to people talk all the time. I have it on good authority that they’re major gossips._

_Have a great Yule!_

_Neville :)_

* * *

“You forgot one,” said Theo. Harry snapped out of his thoughts and looked at where he was pointing.

There was a very thin parcel still on the floor. It was light, as if nothing was inside of it.

When he opened it, something soft and silvery grey slipped to the floor, where it lay in folds. Theo gasped and dropped Harry’s box of chocolate fudge. It hit the floor lightly, undamaged.

“If that’s what I think it is — those are extremely rare, and even more expensive.”

“What is it?”

“An Invisibility Cloak, I think.” He had a hint of awe in his tone. “Try it on and we’ll find out for sure.”

Harry picked up the cloth from the floor. It felt almost like a waterbed, fluid woven into fabric, and weighed nothing. He looked up at Theo before putting it on, then paused.

“What the _hell_ are you wearing?”

Theo blinked out of his daze and looked down at himself. His pyjamas were discarded on the floor and he was wearing powdery blue robes with gaudy golden decals. The neckline was long enough to cover part of his chin, but the sleeves were a few inches shy of his wrist bone. He groaned at himself and tried to rip it off.

“A stupid present from someone trying to suck up to my father. It’s a failure, obviously. Just put the cloak on; I’m dying of suspense.”

He grabbed opposite ends of the cloak and tossed it at Theo’s torso. He yelped when the middle of the robes, along with Theo’s torso, disappeared. Theo looked down and yelped right there with him.

“It is! Bloody hell, you have an actual Invisibility Cloak! Draco’s going to steal it, I know he is. Do you know how long he’s wanted one of these? It was on the top of his wish lists for five years straight.”

Harry seized a small letter from the floor. It was written in narrow, loopy writing that he couldn’t recognise.

_Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time that it was returned to you._

_Use it well._

_A Very Happy Yule to You_

It wasn’t signed. Harry stared at the note in vague suspicion while Theo watched parts of his body disappear under the fabric.

“Amazing, just amazing,” he remarked. “Who gave it to you?”

“I don’t know,” Harry replied absently. “It wasn’t signed.”

He let Theo take the note from him and read it with a narrowed gaze. “Well,” he said after a moment, folding the Invisibility Cloak up and tossing it onto Harry’s bed, “If the cloak had been hexed, we’d already be dead. It’s a bit mysterious, yeah, but don’t overthink it. ”

After putting away their new gifts and cleaning up the mess, the two of them got dressed and walked down to the Great Hall for the Yule lunch. Harry was used to dinners rather than lunches, but the Wizarding World celebrated the light by eating during its peak hours, which made a good amount of sense to him.

It wasn’t a feast like the night before Yule had been, but there were fresh fruits, green things that tasted surprisingly good, and lots of tea. All of the first years sat at one table, but Harry found himself next to the Weasley twins. They were conveniently wearing jumpers with their first initials on them, but he wouldn’t have been surprised to hear that they had purposely worn the wrong ones.

“Hello, Harry,” said the one who might have been Fred.

“Lovely seeing you here,” said the one who might have been George.

“Hello, Fred and George,” he replied pleasantly. “Happy Yule.”

“Yes, a very happy Yule. We never did get to talk to you about that stunt you pulled on our dear brother,” said Maybe-Fred.

“The dancing was a nice touch,” added Maybe-George.

“I know nothing about that.” Harry innocently chewed a grape.

“No, no, of course not.”

“But if you _did_ ,”

“And if you also had something to do with a certain snowball attack,”

“We would have to admit a little respect for you,” they said in unison.

“I think I would be quite flattered,” Harry replied.

The twins turned away from him, ending the conversation. Harry would have thought they were nutters if he didn’t know any better, but since he did, he was just glad that he hadn’t gotten on their bad side. He ate his fruit and watched as wizard crackers were passed around the table. How different could they be from Muggle ones?

As it turned out, very different. He pulled one with Maybe-Fred and it went off with a blast of bright blue smoke that engulfed the two of them, while a banana hat and dark blue jumper exploded from the inside. Maybe-Fred pulled the hat onto his head and Harry shrugged before pulling the jumper over his clothes. It was a soft knitted fabric and smelt slightly of apples. Up at the High Table, Dumbledore was wearing a flowered bonnet with his pastel pink robes, and chuckling at something Professor Flitwick had said.

The lunch went on amiably, with Fred and George regaling him with tales that were probably (hopefully) untrue and the adults drinking copious amounts of wine. At one point, Hagrid kissed Professor McGonagall on the cheek, who, amazingly, just grinned and giggled, top hat lopsided over her dark hair. Harry got Professor Snape to pull a cracker with him and couldn’t contain his laughter when Snape had to don a bonnet much like the Headmaster’s.

“Excellent choice in headwear, Professor Snape,” Dumbledore commented with an amused smile.

Professor Snape looked like he wanted to make a rather rude and unprofessional gesture, but muttered to himself instead. Harry grinned at him and unfolded the joke.

“Professor, what do you call a train loaded with toffee?” Snape glared at him and rolled his eyes. Harry’s grin widened. “A chew chew train!”

“I hate everything about this wretched holiday,” Professor Snape grumbled, his yellow bonnet bobbing dangerously. It was poorly tied.

“It’s okay, sir; I didn’t give you enough time to guess the punchline,” Harry said with mock sympathy. “Don’t feel bad about it.” He stuck another flashing KOOL KID sticker on Professor Snape’s robes, right over his heart.

Snape shooed him away after that and took off the bonnet, but he kept the sticker on all the way until Harry and Theo ventured back to their dorm room. He had a pack of non-explodable, luminous balloons, a box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, and his own new wizard chess set. Wizard chess was basically regular chess, but the pieces were some form of sentient. If he was being honest, the whole idea of manipulating semi-sentient chess pieces kind of freaked him out, so he passed the set on to Theo.

Theo talked him into playing a round of chess before they began writing letters back to their friends. Harry wrote so many thank you notes that his hand began to cramp; a novel experience for him. Theo wrote subtly scathing and cruel letters to the people who had been trying to impress his father, which Harry listened to until he got bored and started learning how to use Dudley’s magic trick kit.

* * *

Harry was about to go to sleep a few hours after dinner when he remembered the Invisibility Cloak. Carefully, he crawled out of bed and took it out of the drawer in his bedside table.

His father’s cloak… it was odd to hold something that had supposedly been his father’s. He wondered if James had used it to roam the halls after curfew, then wondered if he dared to do that, too.

He slung the cloak over his head, easily covering his entire body, and crept out of the dungeons in the direction of the library. He kept his footsteps as light as possible, unsure how to cast a silencing charm on a person instead of an area.

He was a Slytherin with a mystery to solve; of course he dared, and he knew exactly where he was going to go first.

The library was well-lit with the Yule lights, but being somewhere so large and empty at this hour of the night put Harry on edge regardless. He walked with slightly hurried steps now that he was on carpet instead of stone. His destination, the Restricted Section, had books that were considered dangerous or Dark enough to require a teacher’s permission to access. If nobody could find anything about Nicolas Flamel, the Restricted Section was his best bet. It was at the back of the library, separated by a velvet rope and normally under watch by a librarian. At sometime after midnight over winter holidays, nobody stood watch as he stepped over the rope and let himself inside.

Almost instantly, he realised his mistake. While he had been surrounded by magic for almost three months now, it wasn’t second nature to think of everything at once like it was for his pureblood friends. Any of them would have thought that the Restricted Section would be warded against unauthorised entry.

As soon as both feet landed on the ground beyond the rope, ward alarms began to blare; a piercing, echoing wail sounded all around him. Harry leapt back over the rope and ran as fast as he could, heart thudding in his ears as the wailing seemed to follow him. He heard the heavy footsteps of what could only be alerted staff — possibly Filch — and forced himself to run even faster, blindly turning corners and sprinting down flights of stairs. He hid in the first open door he could see, thinking that this whole thing was unfortunately becoming old hat for him now, and made sure to give the room a onceover for dangerous creatures after he shut the door.

It was an unused classroom. Harry didn’t know they had any of those, but the castle was huge enough that he had no idea which wing he was in at the moment. Desks and chairs were piled against the wall, casting shadows on the corner from the moonlight outside, and there was an upturned rubbish bin that looked out of place, as if it had been planted there instead of simply discarded like everything else in the room.

The last thing remarkable thing in the room clearly didn’t belong there; a towering mirror with an ornate gold frame and carefully carved feet to hold it up. Around the top read, _“Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.”_

He looked back at the mirror after reading the engraving, then clapped his hands to his mouth to muffle his startled scream. He was still wearing the Invisibility Cloak, but his reflection was clear as day in the glass, standing beside his friends with a serene expression. He knew it couldn’t be real, but couldn’t help but check to make sure that none of them were behind him, his breathing laboured and panicked.

The room was empty. He turned back slowly, frightened beyond words.

There he was, all of his friends crowded in the mirror around him. Professor Snape’s hair looked clean and healthy instead of the greasy and thin curtain that Harry knew so well. Contentment was clear from the lost tension in his frame, his soft eyes, and the smile showing a hint of white teeth. All of them looked happy, he noticed. From the corner of his eye, he could see Professor Quirrell in Auror custody, turban flapping in an invisible wind.

The mirror was clearly not showing a simple reflection. But the future, maybe…

He didn’t know how much time passed as he watched the reflections, transfixed, but the desire he felt to keep staring at it was almost unnatural. He could just stand here a little longer, get more motivation to make this vision a reality…

_No._

The voice in his head, his deepest instinct, jolted him from the fantasy. No matter what the mirror showed him, he had to stop staring back. With a sharp movement, he abandoned the reflections in the mirror to look back up at the engraving, pulling his Invisibility Cloak around his arm.

Erised.

It _was_ a mirror…

He pulled out his wand and carefully casted the Dictatus Spell. There was a deaf Gryffindor girl in his Charms class, so Professor Flitwick showed them a way for their words to appear in clean white writing. It was a bit difficult to cast correctly, but Harry managed it this time. He began to dictate the letters.

D E S I R E H E A R T S Y O U R B U T F A C E Y O U R N O T S H O W  I

It was _doubly_ backwards! Hastily, he moved away the letters and dictated them the other way.

I S H O W N O T Y O U R F A C E B U T Y O U R H E A R T S D E S I R E

He cancelled the spell and tried to quell the panic he felt at those words. This didn’t feel like a fun puzzle anymore. The mirror must have been looking into his soul to find his greatest desire, right? What happened when someone couldn’t tear their eyes away? Would the mirror eat their soul while they were enraptured by the fake visions inside? Why was it in an unused classroom instead of under lock and key somewhere out of reach?

“I see you’ve discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised.”

Harry’s wand clattered to the ground and he jumped what felt like ten feet into the air. He looked behind him and sitting on one of the desks was the Headmaster, his eyes inquisitive and shadowed by the poorly-lit room.

“I didn’t hear you come in, Professor,” he squeaked.

“This mirror often has the side-effect of tunnel vision,” said Professor Dumbledore, not rudely. “I expect you’ve realised now what it does?”

“It shows us our heart’s desire, the greatest wish that we have,” Harry answered with a cautious nod, taking a quick and paranoid glance at where it loomed behind him.

“It certainly does, my boy,” Dumbledore said quietly. “You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you—”

That was completely wrong, but Harry’s mind raced to go along with it. “How did you know that?”

“I don’t need a cloak to become invisible,” he said gently, mysteriously. “However, this mirror gives us neither knowledge nor truth. Men much older than yourself have wasted away before it, yearning for that which cannot be had. Indeed, they became so entranced with the sights it presents that they did not wonder if it was possible to make them a reality beyond the glass.

“The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry. I ask that you refrain from searching for it again. Should you come across it in the future, you now know its true nature. Now, I believe it is time to rest.”

Harry picked up his wand. “Thank you, sir. Good night.”

“Good night, Harry,” Professor Dumbledore replied, and left the room.

He grabbed his Invisibility Cloak from his arm and swung it back over his head as he headed out after him, subdued and afraid of what he had seen. As he came across the stairs, a nagging thought finally unravelled in his head.

The door to the classroom being ajar, the Mirror hanging out in the open, Professor Dumbledore appearing out of nowhere, hints that he knew about Harry’s cloak, no reaction to part of his arm being concealed, such an eloquent speech, as if it had been rehearsed…  

_Use it well._

The blood drained out of his face with sickening realisation.

This had been a set-up. 


	11. tipping scales

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we are at the end of my completed chapters. i'll upload eleven today? i think? and then the remaining ones will come out every wednesday while i'm doing laundry, because it works best for me that way. please don't hesitate to talk to me about plot or character stuff! and lemme know who your faves are; my s/o loves all of the theo and harry scenes.
> 
> in this chapter: daphne is well-read. snape's depression clears him of all suspicion. dumbledore can't take a hint.

Professor Dumbledore and his string-pulling scared Harry enough that he left his Invisibility Cloak folded at the bottom of his bedside drawer for the rest of the break. He stayed up late into the night wondering what the Headmaster could possibly see in him that warranted so many careful manipulations, and he wondered even more why he thought he knew what Harry saw in the Mirror. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d only step into more traps as the year progressed.

“Dumbledore’s a nutter. You probably remind him of what he was like as a kid or something, so he wants you under his tutelage. He’s working harder now because you’re in a different House,” said Draco after hearing the story from Harry.

Hermione and Neville, who had also come back from break, weren’t so quick to agree. Neville argued that it could all just be a coincidence that Harry was building into something large purely out of paranoia, while Hermione stared into the distance contemplatively, not saying anything one way or another. They had more faith in the Headmaster than Draco and Harry did, but he didn’t think it would hold out for much longer.

None of them had found anything on Nicolas Flamel, either. No matter how many books they checked, or parents they questioned, no answers were forthcoming. It was as if the man didn’t exist. With the beginning of term, they went back to having only narrow opportunities for research between classwork and club activities.

Quidditch practice also resumed with the new term. Gryffindor had narrowly won 110-100 against Hufflepuff, but Hufflepuff had completely destroyed Ravenclaw 200-40 during their match, so Flint was working them hard through the perpetual rain that had replaced the snow. And while Harry trusted his teammates, Hufflepuff’s team was shaping up to be real competition. He couldn’t blame Flint for his caution.

Since their match against Ravenclaw came before Hufflepuff, Flint was teaching them two separate play styles. One was their best setup, but the other was going to be how they played against Ravenclaw to trick the Hufflepuff players who would be analysing their moves. It all felt very secretive and exciting, and Daphne had taken to asking him all about it during Charms class.

“It’s genius, really,” she gushed after successfully casting _Spongify_ on her metal ball. She bounced it with a satisfied smile.

“You know,” Harry started, turning her ball green and sticking his tongue out when she snapped her head to him in accusation, blonde hair fanning out. “I think you should try out for the team next year.”

Daphne turned her ball back and bounced it thoughtfully for a minute. “I’ve never thought about it, to be honest. Astoria always beats me in Seekers’ Games, but I think I could make a good Keeper. And with Bletchley graduating this year…” She stared at the ball, her movements stilling. “I’ll think about it.”

Harry was going to end the conversation there, but on a whim, he asked, “Daphne, do you happen to know who Nicolas Flamel is?”

She brightened up at that and rummaged through her bag. “I do, actually! He was mentioned on one of my Chocolate Frog cards, you see, and I hadn’t the faintest who he was, so I asked Gemma Farley and found myself genuinely interested in the whole thing — here we go —” Daphne grabbed a decorated notepad and flipped through it until she found what she was looking for and began to read.

“‘Nicolas Flamel is a true alchemist who completed The Great Work and made the first Philosopher’s Stone. The Stone grants its creator immortality, and the ability to turn metal into gold or water into the Elixir of Life, which will grant immortality to anyone who consumes it. He famously refuses to allow anyone near the Stone or his notes while he created it, since he believes that knowledge on how to create such immortality would be disastrous for the Wizarding World.’”

Harry’s blood ran cold. “That sounds… scary,” he said, feeling about ready to faint.

“I suppose so. I’d love to create one myself.” Daphne began to bounce her metal ball again. “I don’t want to live forever, but the satisfaction of being only the second person to ever complete The Great Work would be enough for me.”

“Excellent job Miss Greengrass, Mister Potter.” Professor Flitwick said as he passed by their table. Harry followed the motions for the rest of his class, his mind far beyond his muscles.

* * *

_The Magnum Opus, or The Great Work, of a True Alchemist, is the utilisation of the Prima Materia for the Creation of the Lapis Philosophorum. Its Creation will grant the True Alchemist a life Everlasting and the great Gift of Chrysopoeia. Additionally, a User may consume the Elixir of Life made from Its surface, granting them life Everlasting alongside the True Alchemist._

_Many Alchemists have attempted The Great Work, but only one pair has Succeeded. True Alchemists Nicolas Flamel and Perenelle Flamel (née Standen) Created the First Lapis Philosophorum on the Twenty-First of August in the Sacred Year Thirteen Hundred and Sixty-Four. He has refused to share his Method for future Alchemists._

_The Journey through The Magnum Opus is one of Unity with the Elements. Only a Soul of Pure Unity with the Noble Metals…_

* * *

“She was right, then,” said Neville with a shocked expression. “I never seriously doubted her, but to have it laid out like that…”

Once they knew that Nicolas Flamel had been an alchemist, finding his name in a book became remarkably easy. Hermione pulled out a thin novel on the Magnum Opus section and that had been it.

“So Quirrell is after immortality or unlimited gold,” Draco said, then added, “Or both. Why stop at one when you have the Stone?”

“But why would Flamel give it to Professor Dumbledore?” asked Hermione, her hands flying out in exasperation. “It makes no sense! He’s been able to keep it protected for over six hundred years, so it’s not like he needs the help!”

“Probably manipulated him into it,” Harry muttered, one hand roughly rubbing the bridge of his nose under his glasses. Draco spared him a glance and held his forearm until Harry let his hand rest back on the table.

“No matter how he got it, Quirrell won’t be able to steal it.” declared Draco. “I _may_ have borrowed Harry’s cloak and overheard Professor Snape threatening him a few days ago.”

“And you didn’t tell us?” Hermione looked royally upset that Draco would keep quiet about anything involving their investigation.

Draco just rolled his eyes. “At the time, it wasn’t conclusive. Quirrell could have been threatened because he was helping to guard whatever was under the hatch. But now that we know it’s the Philosopher’s Stone, Snape is cleared.”

“Why?” Neville asked.

“Come on, eternal life? Have you _met_ Professor Snape? I’m shocked he hasn’t already offed himself. I’ve never met a singularly more miserable human being in my life! And as for the gold, he’d run an apothecary if he wanted money, not work as a professor.”

Both were fair points. “So Professor Snape is the one standing between Quirrell and the Stone?”

Hermione straightened her posture and beamed. “Then he’s never getting it.”

* * *

As if he had heard Draco’s description of his existence and strongly disapproved, Professor Snape was named the referee for the Ravenclaw/Slytherin match, which everyone thought was either hilarious or cruel. Snape was notorious for his hatred of Quidditch, so Harry wasn’t sure why he had been selected — or if he knew enough of the rules to be considered qualified — and he didn’t care enough to find out. Maybe he was turning over a new leaf and trying to act like someone who would gain anything from stealing the Philosopher’s Stone. Harry doubted it, but regardless of the reason, he was grateful to have a referee who could make sure that his second game didn’t end in another assassination attempt.

On the day of the match, his friends wished him good luck outside of the locker rooms, decked in Slytherin gear. The confidence in their faces reassured him as he entered after his teammates and changed into his gear, adrenalin beginning to flow through his body. He listened absently to Flint’s pregame pep talk, but straightened up when discussion moved to him.

“Potter, don’t catch the Snitch right away. It was fine for the Gryffindor game because it was the first match of the season, but we need to stack up points if we want to defeat Hufflepuff. Only start going for the Snitch once we’re at one hundred and sixty at _least_ , alright?”

Harry nodded determinedly. “Yes, sir.”

“Looks like whole school is out there,” cried Terence, his head poked out of the door. “Even Dumbledore’s come to spectate! I’ve never seen him at one of our games before; always figured he thought he was too good for us lowly dungeon-dwellers.”

His heart plummeted somewhere near his feet. He had been ignoring Dumbledore for weeks, but he should have expected that he’d show up to the match. He had an odd interest in Harry. He shook off the concern by rolling his shoulders and headed to the pitch with the rest of the team. He’d worry about the Headmaster’s nefarious plans after the match.

Lee Jordan was the announcer once again, and Harry let his commentary fade to the background while he focused on keeping an eye out for the Snitch and the Ravenclaw Seeker.

Cetus Pedigo was a petite sixth year with big blonde hair and wide eyes. She was fast and comfortable on a broom, but seemed slightly distracted. They both made circles around the pitch, looking out for Bludgers and flecks of gold.

Below them, Slytherin was having a great time using their alternate playstyle. Flint was faking an injury that caused him to favour his right side, which Featherfield was “compensating” for by playing fast and dirty, darting around Ravenclaw’s Chasers with a rare grin on his face. Even Ailstock and Pollard were playing lighter, focusing more on agility than raw strength like they normally did.

Conversely, Bletchley and Terence were pretending to be furious with the rest of the team. Bletchley blocked goal after goal, but had a perpetual snarl on his face whenever one of his teammates approached. Terence was acting desperate for a pass, but Featherfield and Flint were keeping the Quaffle between themselves, leaving him to play defensively, which wasn’t his strong suit. Overall, it was very different from their usual setup, and they took the fake drama so seriously that they carefully arranged arguments within hearing range of the other Houses in the days leading up to the match. With any luck, the Hufflepuffs watching from the stands would assume that this was their new team dynamic.

The gold flash of the Snitch caught his eye and he looked at the scoreboard. Seventy to ten. Not high enough, but it was only a matter of time before Pedigo saw it too. He needed to distract her until the Snitch disappeared.

Adjusting his grip on his broom, he shot off like a rocket right past Pedigo. He heard her gasp, then fly off after him, taking the bait. He pictured a Snitch in his mind and pretended to follow it, making large loops and taking sharp corners like a real one would. All the while, he kept his eye on the actual Snitch. Once it disappeared from his line of sight, he slowed down and shot a smug smirk at Pedigo, who now began to look suspicious.

“I must’ve lost it,” he said with a careless shrug. She huffed angrily and stormed off to look for the real thing.

One hundred to ten. Harry settled in for a long game.

* * *

 In truth, the game didn’t actually last for much longer. He led Pedigo on two more false chases. During the second, Slytherin finally reached one hundred and sixty. He meant to lead her on more goose chases so they’d surpass Hufflepuff’s total score instead of just tying with them, but he saw the Snitch just a few feet behind Pedigo’s broom bristles and didn’t want to take the chance, so he swept around and caught it.

“Seeker Potter catches the Snitch — that’s game! Slytherin wins two hundred to one hundred!”

Harry saw his friends screaming and cheering from the stands and waved back frantically as he landed on the ground. Professor Snape looked as disgruntled as ever, but he gave a small, approving nod when they locked eyes. Flint clapped him on the back and the team huddled to congratulate each other. Harry felt a hand of his shoulder and looked up to see Dumbledore’s smiling face.

“Well done,” he said, voice low to keep his words private. “I see you haven’t been brooding about that Mirror. You’ve been keeping busy, excellent…”

Draco dashed across the field and enveloped Harry into a strong hug, knocking the breath out of him. Professor Dumbledore stepped away to give Harry space to stagger and compensate for the added weight.

“Fantastic game, Harry!” Draco cried, keeping his body between Harry’s and the Headmaster’s. “Pedigo was furious, but you still managed to trick her _three times!_ Brilliant!”

The Headmaster walked away as Draco rambled about the game, always cutting Harry out of his line of sight. Harry, moved, softly smiled at him, trying convey what he wouldn’t risk saying. He was very grateful that Draco had scared him off.

“Gods, that was humiliating. See to it that Dumbledore ends his crusade on making you uncomfortable, because I am never doing anything so _uncouth_ again,” he finally said, with not nearly enough bite, when the coast was clear. Harry waved him off with a grin.

* * *

Shortly after the game, Harry walked to the broom shed to take his Nimbus Two Thousand back. Harper Blackwood had stayed back to accompany him, chatting idly about her own House’s team. His skin felt dirty and the rainstorm that had moved in was only adding a sticky feeling to it.

“Maxine is working her team even harder than Marcus does, I think. I don’t know how they manage to get any homework done; they always look so tired when I see them,” said Harper, collar turned up against the wind. She held her wand straight up, keeping both of them safe from the rain with her Umbrella Charm.

“Do you care which of us wins?” he asked, stepping across the damp grass.

“Hmm, not really. You both deserve it and, well…” She frowned. “I just think there are more important things to worry about than Quidditch, that’s all. There will always be another Quidditch Cup.”

He thought that was fair enough, so he didn’t say anything. Besides, they had reached the shed. He opened the door and walked inside to replace his broom, holding back a yawn.

“Harry.” Harper’s voice was urgent now, so he ran back outside with his broom and, confused, looked in the direction her eyes were locked in.

It was barely visible, but there was a hooded figure was running down the front steps of the castle. It moved quickly towards the Forbidden Forest, its body obscured by a thick black cloak. Still, Harry recognised the way it walked and furrowed his brows.

“Is that Professor Snape?” Harper asked incredulously, reaching the same conclusion that Harry had. “Why is he going into the Forbidden Forest?”

He really wanted to know too, but if it had anything to do with the Philosopher’s Stone, neither of them would be running after him to find out. He put on his most reassuring voice.

“Harvesting ingredients, I’d imagine,” he said as reasonably as he could.

“He looks a little… suspicious.”

“He _always_ looks suspicious; he’s rude, he wears all black, and he flicks his robes every time he leaves a room.”

Harper laughed at that, the troubled look leaving her face. “Yeah, you’re right. I might be reading too many crime novels.”

Harry put his broom back in the shed and walked back to the pitch with her, trying to act normal despite the growing tension in the centre of his chest. Things seemed to be progressing with the third floor corridor. He worried that Professor Snape wouldn’t be able to hold out indefinitely.


	12. if you want something done right, do it yourself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a little late because i slept over at a friend's and the lot of us stayed up way too late making jokes. i don't have time to proofread because i have to leave NOW. see you wednesday, dweebs.
> 
> in this chapter: history class is chaos. hagrid should probably be fired. slytherins say a bad word. the worst case scenario comes to pass.

Professor Quirrell got paler and thinner over the following weeks while Professor Snape got nastier and more dishevelled, but nothing seemed to have given just yet. Neville and Harry began to get less tense with every day that passed, gradually pushing the Philosopher’s Stone into the back of their minds. Draco and Hermione, completely confident in Professor Snape’s skills, didn’t have to take any time to relax at all. Instead, they had taken to dragging everyone into the library for long study sessions in preparation for final exams.

“I have Quidditch practice,” Harry complained one morning when Draco began pulling him towards the library after breakfast.

“School is far more important than Quidditch,” Draco dismissed, unimpressed, and kept pulling until Harry gave in.

Before long, the teachers started to share the same idea. After their short break for Ēostre (the Vernal Equinox, he learnt), Harry was given so much homework that he almost missed his old school; nothing Muggle could compare to the amount of practical application and theoretical concepts he was reviewing and being tested on. Draco spent a lot of his time patiently correcting Vince and Greg’s wand movements while Hermione muttered to herself about potions ingredients and the rest of them just tried to retain as much information as possible.

One afternoon study session, Harry was sitting with Draco, trying valiantly to avoid falling asleep in his History textbook. Pansy had already absconded for some fresh air, but the rest of them stayed behind. Hermione was off looking for a specific Transfiguration book and Neville had followed. Daphne was resting her cheek against Theo’s shoulder. They were both out cold.

“Is it going to be like this every year?” Harry asked through a yawn, turning his head to Draco.

“I imagine so,” drawled Draco.

“Mmm,” replied Harry. He rested his head further on his propped arm, his eyes drooping closed while he thought about his last Quidditch match.

He had caught the Snitch as quickly as he could, as per Flint’s instructions, but Hufflepuff managed two goals in the time it took him to finish chasing the Snitch and raise it up to call the end of the game. Their season total was 360 against Hufflepuff’s 370, but Flint had been surprisingly okay with it. Their new mission was to help Ravenclaw win their match against Gryffindor — Flint really hated Oliver Wood.

His thoughts drifted to flying, then to the comfortable warmth of the library. He could see why Daphne and Theo had fallen asleep; it seemed so easy…

Someone yanked at the arm holding his head up and Harry violently jolted awake, arms pinwheeling to keep his balance until another arm steadied his seat. He followed the length of the arm with his eyes and sneered.

“Good afternoon, Harry,” Draco said innocently, but ruined the façade by winking at him mischievously.

“You are the _worst —”_ Harry cut himself off.

Hagrid was coming out of one of the aisles, looking very out of place with his large form and his overcoat. His eyes kept darting around nervously, but he didn’t notice their study table. He had a book in his hands that he quickly hid in the coat, then shuffled out of the library. He was clearly up to something.

When they were sure that he wasn’t coming back, Harry and Draco stood up silently and walked over to where Hagrid had come out of, unsure of what they’d find. He was distantly concerned that it’d be something about stealing back a Philosopher’s Stone.

Then he read the titles and groaned.

* * *

“Dragons?” cried Neville. _“Dragons?”_

The four of them hurried their steps, rustling the green grass beneath their feet. Harry could make out Hagrid’s house in the distance and walked more determinedly.

“Maybe he doesn’t actually have a dragon,” Hermione suggested. “Maybe he just wants to research them!”

“I pray to Merlin that he’s doing research, the bloody idiot,” said Draco darkly, his steps dramatically heavy. “Nevermind the fact that it’s _illegal_ — who in their right mind would want to raise a dragon around a school full of children?”

When they reached the house, it was to the alarming sight of all of the curtains pulled tightly shut. Hagrid poked his head out from one of them before he answered their knock, then quickly shut the door behind them.

It was unbearably hot. Harry took off his cloak as soon as he was fully inside and noticed that the fireplace was blazing at full strength. They all gave each other anxious looks, then sat down. Hagrid made them tea and offered them more rock cakes, which they wisely declined.

“Wha’ brings the lot o’ yeh here?” he asked once they were settled.

Draco spoke first. “Hagrid, would you mind opening a window?” he asked in his most pretentious voice. “It’s stifling in here.”

“I can’t, Draco, sorry,” said Hagrid, but Harry caught the glance he made at the fire. He groaned again, internally this time.

“Hagrid,” he started as patiently as he could manage. “What’s in the fireplace?”

He already knew what was inside, of course. They had all known from the second they found out about the dragon books. They had just _hoped_ …

But in the centre of the fire, underneath the kettle, sat a huge, black egg.

“Ah,” said Hagrid, fiddling with his hands and his beard, his eyes all over the room. “That’s not… er…”

Draco shuffled in his seat, voice close to shrill. “Where, exactly, did you manage to get a dragon egg? On top of being illegal to sell, they cost far more on the black market than you could even fantasise about affording.”

“Won it,” replied Hagrid. “I was down in Hogsmeade las’ night an’ won a game of cards with a stranger. He was glad ter get rid of it, I reckon.”

“What did he look like?” asked Harry.

“Dunno. It was night an’ he had a hood on. That’s normal over in Hog’s Head, so I didn’ think much of it.”

Damn. Harry really wished that he could remember something about the stranger with the egg. It all seemed really suspicious.

“And what are you going to do when the egg hatches?” Hermione asked. Hagrid brightened up considerably at the question and pulled out some books.

“I’ve been doin’ some readin’! When it hatches, feed it on a bucket o’ brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour. An’ —”

“Hagrid, you live in a wooden house!” Neville finally shrieked, giving up all pretence of calm. “And this is a school, you can’t just keep it! It’s going to kill someone!”

But Hagrid was beyond reasoning with. “No, Norbert would never hurt any o’ yeh! He’s a good dragon!”

“Merlin help us all, he’s named it,” Draco moaned. “At least I know the name to scream in terror as my body melts in a ring of flames in a few days.”

They argued back and forth for so long that Harry forgot to ask more questions about the stranger that had given him the egg in the first place. They weren’t able to reason with Hagrid, who had unfortunately adopted Norbert as his child, and the suffocating heat of his house became unbearable before long, so Harry ushered all of them out before he passed out from heat exhaustion.

“We have to do something about that dragon,” Draco said once they were out of earshot. Neville nodded in agreement.

Harry fastened the clasp on his cloak and frowned in thought. “But who can we go to?”

The answer came to them all simultaneously; Professor Snape. They rushed over to the dungeons as soon as they could, hoping against hope that he was still in his office at this hour. There were familiar students littered in the halls, but their purposeful steps dissuaded any questions.

Professor Snape’s door opened with what was probably wandless magic. He raised a brow at the four of them piling into his office just before dinner, but pushed aside his papers for the moment and waited for them to speak.

“Hagrid has a dragon,” Harry said bluntly.

Snape’s expression went blank. “A dragon?”

“Its name is Norbert. It’s currently incubating in his fireplace.”

Professor Snape sighed very deeply. “An illegal dragon is preparing to hatch on the castle grounds, no doubt _lovingly_ doted on by that foolish groundskeeper, and you’ve come to share this information with me, of all people? Dare I ask what you expect of me?”

“You can’t get him fired!” blurted Hermione.

“And why ever not? He is sneaking around with a dragon without any regard towards the wellbeing of countless students entrusted under his care. And if that weren’t enough, it’s not even the first time that his despicable adoration for dangerous creatures has posed a problem for student safety. Frankly, I’d be doing the school a great honour to finally call for his termination.”

They all looked at each other. Professor Snape wasn’t actually wrong; there was, technically, no reason not to fire him. Hagrid was kind, but as much as Harry liked him, he quite literally had an illegal dragon on school grounds simply because he loved the blasted thing. It would be safer for the entire student body if he was fired.

Professor Snape scowled. “Oh, quit looking at me like that, you pests. Your beloved groundskeeper will keep his job for another day, but listen to me very clearly.”

He leaned in and made pointed eye contact with all four of them. “Keep a tight leash on him; if he does anything else, no matter how vague or abstract the danger it may present, I will personally see to it that he doesn’t step another overgrown foot anywhere in this country again. Am I understood?”

They all nodded eagerly. “Yes, Professor.”

“Now get out of my office. I’ve urgent business to attend to with the headmaster.”

* * *

True to his word, Professor Snape dealt with Norbert. Hagrid invited them to say their goodbyes as a team from a dragon sanctuary prepared to take him away, and they agreed as emotional support. Harry felt a little uncomfortable and guilty standing there, Hagrid sniffling and teary-eyed as he asked dozens of questions to the team like a worried mother sending her child to summer camp. Still, he reasoned, it had to be done. At least Hagrid still had a job.

The next day, Harry entered History of Magic desperate for a distraction, and he wasn’t disappointed.

He wasn’t surprised to walk in and have the layout look more like a hallway than a room, since he’d come to expect those kind of changes over the year, but all of their desks and chairs were in one of two opposite piles and the floor was cushioned, bouncing lightly under his feet.

“What do you think is going on?” asked Susan Bones, one of Pansy and Hermione’s friends. The rest of their classmates stood against the wall, not knowing where to go without any seats.

“I’m not sure,” Harry said, joining the crowd. “I thought we were going to focus on review instead of another reenactment.”

“Who said this wasn’t a review?” asked Professor King, stepping into the room. Her clothes were at least two centuries old, all billowing sleeves and neutral colours. She always made sure to dress to match whatever she was teaching about that day. Harry admired her dedication.

“Go ahead, kiddos, sit on the floor. It’s cushioned, it’ll feel fine! You won’t be there for long anyway.”

Harry sat cross-legged on the floor with the rest of the class. To be honest, this wasn’t even the weirdest thing that Professor King had made them do; once, she had them stand in a circle and point at each other until they understood what thee, thou, thy, and thine meant in some of the transcripts from their textbook. Sitting on a soft cushioned floor was hardly a test of willpower.

“Today, we’re going to do something a little different than usual,” she began. “I’ve already drilled it into your impressionable minds that I don’t think that the Goblin Rebellions were quite as important as, say, the Walpurgisnacht Massacre or the Emergency Revolt of 1342, but your History OWL strongly disagrees with me. So I have to admit, I’ve done you all a bit of a disservice by avoiding explaining them in favour of other important events, but I’m going to remedy that, sort of!

“I’m not going to give a long lecture about the heinous crimes of Yardley Platt or the total reformation of the Wizengamot, that dubious honour is for your second and third year teachers, but I’m going to do you one better, like always.”

Professor King waved her wand and Summoned two large, clear bin bags. One was full of small red balls, the other blue. Harry tilted his head at them. What was she going to make them do now?

“I was originally planning to teach you all a modified spell for this, but it leaves too much room for injury. Instead, we have these little balls.” She pulled one out to show them. “You’ll be split into two teams with a base at either desk pile, and throw these at one another. Red is Goblins and blue is wizards. If you get a hit…”

She hurled one at the wall, where it exploded in bright red ink. “It’ll stain your opponent’s robes, and the person you hit is dead and out. Feel free to drop where you stand or have emotional last words; these rebellions were bloody and violent and you all know how much I love some drama.”

His classmates began to whisper to each other excitedly. Pansy nudged him and stood up, reaching out a hand.

“Come on, Harry; you’re with me.”

He and Pansy were assigned to the Goblins along with a number of other students that he didn’t know. They walked to their desk pile and readied themselves with balls, waiting for Professor King’s signal.

And then all hell broke loose.

Blue and red were whizzing by at top speed, splashing students and the walls indiscriminately. He heard kids making battle cries and yelling other nonsense as if it really was a gritty battle about systemic discrimination and rights to personhood. To his side, Pansy had never looked more comfortable; she pelted student after student and avoided getting hit almost as an afterthought to her assault.

“Go for the Hufflepuff in the front!” Someone shouted, and every Hufflepuff on either front line dove for cover as the projectiles all shifted their focus on gold. Harry took the distraction as an opportunity to catch some of the heavy hitters on the Wizards’ side.

It seemed endless because of the chaos and the adrenalin, but it probably took no more than ten minutes before it was over. Harry had gotten caught while running to get more balls, and Pansy had gotten herself out right after by dramatically avenging his death. Professor King was beside herself with joy about the whole thing and excitedly said that they were all winners before casting a wide cleaning charm and dismissing them. Harry and Pansy walked out with their hearts only just beginning to calm down from the excitement.

“That was fun, wasn’t it?”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t think I’m very well-suited for all of the action. You seemed to be having a great time though; who knew you were so good at that?”

Pansy blushed a little and smoothed out her robes. “Yes, well. We all have our skills.”

“WHAT IS THE _MEANING_ OF THIS!”

Harry and Pansy both jumped at Professor McGonagall’s furious holler, whipping their heads around to try to find where she was along the hallway.

She continued to shout as they searched around. “Two hundred points from all of your Houses for this shameless display of _savagery!_ All of you will follow me to the Headmaster immediately!”

Harry finally came upon her as a throng of students cleared a path for her and four other students. Two of them were Slytherin upper years, but the other two…

The other two were Hermione and Neville, both of them with their heads bowed and nursing their own injuries. Hermione’s teeth were elongated all the way to her chin and they both had the kind of bloodied knuckles that only came from a fight. Professor McGonagall’s expression was thunderous and Harry could feel the crackle of her magic looming over him. The hall dissolved into gossip and chatter as soon as they had rounded the corner.

* * *

 “They called me a mudblood,” Hermione said quietly. Her teeth were back to their rightful length and her hands were healed like nothing had ever happened.

They were sitting outside with their dinners instead of in the Great Hall, partially because word had spread across the school, and partially because they could speak freely outside. The trees above them bristled with the wind and casted different sorts of shadows on the grass. It smelled faintly of flowers and Hermione was looking at them like she expected them to be upset with her for fighting over something like that. He took a bite of his potatoes.

“How did it happen?” Draco asked. “Did they just —”

“They cornered us in the hallway and told us that we had no business hanging around Slytherins when one of us is a useless nobody and the other’s a…” Neville paused meaningfully rather than repeating the slur. “I got really angry, so I hexed him. It got chaotic after that, but eventually someone got disarmed and we just started fighting.”

“Did you land any good punches, at least?” asked Pansy.

“Who cares! We all lost two hundred points and now we have detention with Hagrid.”

Pansy pouted.

“You defended yourselves, so I think that counts as a victory.” Theo said thoughtfully. “And don’t you all like Hagrid? It’s certainly better to sit the detention with him than with Filch staring at you for two hours as you clean the trophy room.” He visibly shivered at the memory.

“We do,” Hermione began hesitantly. “It’s just that, well, he can be a touch…”

“Dangerous.” Draco finished for her. “There’s no telling what sort of illegal creature they’ll have to give a sponge bath.”

“We are _not_ giving any magical creatures a sponge bath!” Hermione cried. “I refuse! Hagrid is a very kind man, but I won’t do it! I simply won’t!”

“The detention is tonight, yeah?” Harry asked.

“Yes. I should have kept a better control of my temper, really; I was planning on studying Astronomy tonight and now I’ll be lucky if I even make it to bed before midnight!”

Dinner ended before Harry or anyone else could offer much comfort to either of them, and then it was time to report for detention. Harry watched them go with a frown on his face, feeling helpless.

He understood that they had broken the rules, and he knew that part of his frustration was because they were his friends and he was playing favourites, but it didn't make sense to him that they would receive the same punishment as the Slytherins. Not only were they older, but they were also the ones who started the whole incident in the first place; why should Neville and Hermione be punished so severely just for defending themselves?

His mood followed him throughout the rest of the evening. Draco noticed and tried to get him to join the game of Wizard Twister that he was playing with his other friends (the wizards just called it Twister, and it was mostly the same except that the circles changed colour), but he felt too restless and prickly to do it. He didn't join Theo, Pansy, and Daphne as they tried to find a way to get the boys and girls into each other's dormitories either. He didn't even draw because he found that he couldn't focus on anything besides his own feelings. Instead, he sat in the common room and felt badly until he exhausted himself enough to fall asleep.

* * *

Harry jolted awake to find someone standing over him and shaking him violently, backlit and hard to make out. Blearily, he squinted and tried to make out who it was.

"What's going on?" he slurred, still struggling to work past the mental fog of sleep. The silhouette pulled him up by the hand and balanced him with an arm around his waist, ushering him out of the common room and into the hallway. Harry noticed Hermione and Draco following and felt himself finally snap out of his sleepiness.

"What's going on?" he repeated with more coherence and a million times more concern, finally fully standing on his own. Neville — he was the one who had been helping Harry — didn't spare him a glance as he grabbed Harry's hand and began to run with purpose.

"We'll explain everything on the way, but we're going through the trap door," he said in a rush. "He Who Must Not Be Named is after the Philosopher's Stone."

Professor Snape couldn't hold out, then. It was up to them now.

Harry was very awake. 


	13. down the hatch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's been a while, i'm sorryyyyy. writing this chapter has been really heckin hard, my guys. but it is DONE FUCK ME! hopefully, especially with school ending, there won't be a big gap between this chapter and the next.
> 
> in this chapter: i pretend to understand chess. dogs are asleep. draco finally does accio correctly. neville is lost in the sauce.

They ventured to the third floor as quickly as possible while also being careful to keep quiet — this was not the time to get caught by Filch or anybody else patrolling the halls. At the staircase to the third floor, Hermione held a hand out and they skidded to a stop.

“Peeves is there,” she whispered, and sure enough, Harry caught a glimpse of his glowing figure floating in the direction of the stairs, loosening the carpet as he moved so that people would trip in the morning.

“What do we do?” Harry asked. They couldn’t get caught, but the next nearest staircase was too far away; if they ran to that one, it could make them too late to save the Stone.

Draco reached into his bag and shook something out. “Luckily, I nicked your Invisibility Cloak ages ago. Get over here before he sees us! And keep quiet!”

He thanked his lucky stars that Draco had no qualms about stealing, but made a note to have a stern conversation about it later. You know, if they were still alive.

Manoeuvring without being able to see any limbs, especially ones that weren’t your own, was a unique experience, but somewhat awkwardly, they managed to wiggle up the stairs without tripping up and eased their way down the corridor.

“Peeves,” Draco croaked in a startlingly-accurate impression of the Bloody Baron.

Peeves flailed and jumped about in a very un-Peeves-like manner. He turned his head around wildly to find the source of the sound.

“Y-Your bloodiness, Mr. Baron, sir! Are you invisible, sir?”

“Yes,” Draco continued to croak. “There is business for me here tonight and I have no need for your antics. Stay out of this corridor.”

Peeves was already halfway down the stairs, head nodding repeatedly. “Of course, sir, I most certainly will! I’ll not bother you at all, sir! Good night!”

And he was gone in a blink.

Without wasting another moment, they pulled off the Invisibility Cloak and ran to the door — and it was already ajar. The four of them felt an intense wave of foreboding as they stared at it silently for a moment. The gravity of the situation was becoming plain now; they could die tonight.

“He’s already made it past, then.” Neville finally said, gravely.

Hermione steeled herself and shook her head to dismiss the fear that they all had. “Then we’ll have to hurry. I researched cerberi a while ago and they really like music. If we play something for it, it’ll fall asleep and we can sneak down.”

“But we don’t have any instruments.”

“So we’ll have to sing!” None of them felt particularly hopeful about that working.

“You and Harry are Muggleborn!” Draco pointed out, voice shrill. “You don’t know any of our songs!”

Harry pushed past his arguing friends and pushed the door fully open. It made long, high-pitched creaking noise as he boldly strode inside. The room was even more unsettling with the knowledge that every step brought him — brought _all of them_ — closer to Voldemort. He wondered, not for the first time this school year, what he was doing, and steeled himself.

But there was already music playing from a harp in the corner. Fluffy, in all of its might, was snoring like a grown man and didn’t look like it would wake for anything. “The — It’s already asleep,” he called faintly, not quite understanding what he was seeing.

His friends entered in a rush and stared at the harp, then at Fluffy. Hermione spoke first.

“That… that makes no sense! Why would he leave the music playing?”

Harry didn’t know either. It _didn’t_ make sense; had Voldemort overlooked something so obvious? Was there something more going on than they knew?

“We don’t have time to think about that,” Neville said. “Let’s go before the spell wears off.”

Reluctantly, Harry nodded and the four of them made it to the hatch. Fluffy’s snores should have been comforting because they meant that it wasn’t trying to kill them, but it only made Harry’s heart beat faster and his hands get clammy from fear. He felt so young in the face of all of the stress that this year had caused him; he had never felt more vulnerable.

Hermione and Draco pulled open the hatch as quietly as possible. The inside of it was pitch black and had no particular smell. In the darkness of the rest of the room, it looked almost like an inkstain and gave them no expectations of what the bottom of it would look like, or even how far down the hatch went.

Neville, a touch green in the face, took a deep breath. “I’ll go first,” he decided.

Harry nodded. “We’ll see you on the other side, then.”

Neville lowered himself down the hatch until he dropped out of sight. Harry couldn’t hear if he had landed.

“You go next, Draco,” said Hermione. Draco laughed a sharp kind of laugh that sounded more like a punch in the gut than amusement.

“Absolutely not.” He shook his head. “I’ll go last and I’ll hear nothing more of it.”

Hermione, her face partially bathed in shadow, pushed Draco to the edge of the hole in the floor. _“Go.”_

Her tone brokered no argument and, with a curse, Draco leapt down the hatch.

The room felt so empty with two of their friends missing. Harry dared not look at Hermione in their equally frazzled and distressed states; he would go next. He still couldn’t hear if his friends were —

If they were still alive down there.

 _It’s like a plaster,_ he thought, and jumped.

Cold, damp air rushed past him as he fell almost impossibly fast for what seemed like forever, down, down, his ears popping almost immediately from the change in air pressure, his heart pounding somewhere in his throat, his thoughts only on a loop of _please let my friends be alive i can’t do this alone please please_ —

He let out a shout as he abruptly landed on something soft. He sat up and squinted around to get his bearings, noting Draco and Neville sitting nearby on the same big surface as him. A plant, maybe? Hermione landed with a thump at his side and made the same efforts to adjust herself to their new surroundings.

“Good, you’re all okay. How far down do you think we are?” she asked, slightly out of breath. “I reckon it must be miles. Wait — what —”

She shrieked and scrambled toward the wall with a struggle. Harry noticed, with dim horror, that the plant had been twisting thick, snakelike tendrils around her limbs, and the rest of them were already entangled without their noticing. Hermione, at least, had escaped, but Draco and Harry began to struggle something fierce as it wound tighter and faster around their legs and torsos.

“Stop moving!” Neville shouted, somehow keeping himself still and less entangled than the two of them. “It’s Devil’s Snare! It’ll just get tighter the more you move around!”

“Devil’s Snare?” Hermione repeated, voice shrill. “Okay, erm, Devil’s Snare, Devil’s Snare… it can’t stand the light o-or the heat —”

“So burn it!” Harry choked out, trying not to move as the plant moved up his chest.

“There’s no wood!” she cried helplessly, grabbing fitfully at her hair.

“Oh, if only there were a professor to use as kindling!” Draco snarled. “ARE YOU NOT A WITCH?”

“Oh, God! How could I forget that — I — Okay!”

Hermione whipped out her wand and waved it precisely for _Incendio_ in the direction of the plant. Within moments, it and its many tendrils loosened their grips and began to coil toward what looked to be the base of the plant, far away from the light of the fire burning brightly near their feet. They pulled free in a hurry.

“Thanks, Hermione,” Neville said, putting an arm on her shoulder.

“Thanks to Harry, more like. ‘There’s no wood,’ _honestly_.” Draco muttered darkly. “You are absolute rubbish in a crisis, do you realise that?”

“That’s enough,” Harry said firmly. “We have bigger things to worry about.”

They walked down a dark stone passageway, their steps echoing alongside the sound of distant dripping water. It was eerily quiet and very dark outside of their illuminated wands, and they unconsciously walked closely together for comfort. It remained that way for some time, until they began to notice faint rustling and clinking sounds coming from farther up. At the end of the passageway, a brightly lit chamber awaited. They entered cautiously.

The ceilings were far, far above their heads and small, nearly jewel-coloured birds fluttered and tumbled all around, paying them no attention. Four broomsticks rested against a wall and at the opposite end of the room was a dark, thick-looking wooden door that did not respond to _Alohomora_ when they creeped across the room and tried it.

“Do you think the birds have something to do with it?” Neville asked. “Maybe it’s an obstacle course of some sort.”

Harry stared at the glittering birds overhead — glittering.

“They’re not birds!” he said suddenly. “They’re keys! One of them must be for the door!”

“But which one? There are hundreds of them!”

They all huddled around and inspected the lock.

“It’s probably a big, old fashioned one like the door.” Hermione concluded. “Silver, maybe?”

 _“Accio_ key to the locked door!” Draco called, and they all waited in anticipation. After a few seconds without any activity, Draco frowned.

“I swear to Merlin — I’ve been rubbish at this spell all year!” he grumbled, then closed his eyes and concentrated with a kind of force that Harry had never seen from him before. “I said, _ACCIO_ KEY!”

A key darted out of the air and crushed into Draco’s awaiting hand with a haunting, disgusting crunch, but he didn't seem to have noticed by the way his face was absolutely glowing. Harry, Neville, and Hermione cheered so loudly that it echoed in the chamber.

They ran to the door and Draco hastily turned the key into the lock — which worked. As soon as the door clicked open, the key flew out of his hands and sluggishly rejoined the other keys, looking worse for wear. They went through the door without sparing the time to get nervous again.

This room was dark, even darker compared to the well-lit room before it. But at their motions inside of it, a cool light flooded the chamber and made them privy to their odd surroundings.

Nearly the entire floor was a black and white checkered pattern and, right in front of them, towering black stone figures rested perfectly at predetermined locations. On the far other side of the room, white pieces were arranged in the same order. It was a massive game of human chess.

"None of you would happen to be good at chess, would you?" Harry asked. The future of the Wizarding World could be determined by a single game that he hadn't bothered to learn how to play.

Hermione shook her head.

"I know how to play, but my parents always say that I don't have the personality to master it," Draco admitted.

"I'm good at it," said Neville. "My grandmother taught me. So how do we... play it?"

None of them really knew.

Neville slowly walked up to a black knight and touched its horse. At his touch, the piece came to life; the horse neighed silently and the knight lowered its head to regard the four of them. Harry shuddered at its gaze; the pieces didn't have any faces.

"Do we need to take your places in order to play?" Neville asked nervously. The knight nodded at him and he squared his shoulders.

"Right then. Hermione, you'll be that rook. Draco, take the bishop over there. Harry, you're the king."

"What about you?"

"I'll be a pawn."

The chess pieces seemed to be waiting for those instructions, and a pawn, a bishop, and a rook turned away from the white pieces and walked off of their spots before vanishing into thin air. The four of them took their spots with resigned strides. Harry picked up the crown that the black king had left and put it on his head.

"White always plays first," said Neville, almost conversationally.

A white pawn moved forward two squares, and the game began.

Neville directed the pieces with keen focus, seeming to completely ignore his surroundings in favour of the game. The rest of them followed his instructions silently, too afraid to break his concentration. Harry's heart pounded in his ears; if they lost, everyone would die.

Harry shut his eyes when one of their pawns was taken by another one in a thunderous crash, its body still as it was dragged off of the board and the white pawn took its place.

"Pawn D6 to E5." Neville said immediately, and the white pawn was crushed by one of their other black pieces.

Pieces continued to fall brutally from both sides for some time. They all grimaced every time they had to send a piece its death, but fulfilled their roles dutifully. After standing in the place behind Harry for some time, Neville hesitantly spoke something other than orders.

"Draco, you said that you can play chess, right?"

Draco, standing guard next to Harry, turned around and furrowed his eyebrows. "Yes..." he started slowly. "Why are you asking me that?"

By his tone, it was clear that he had an idea of the answer. Harry did, too.

"You're going to have to finish without me. I need to sacrifice myself."

"NO!" They all shouted. Harry's throat already hurt from the force he had put behind the word.

"I have to! That's how chess _works!"_ Neville snapped furiously. His hands were balled up and shaking at his sides. "Some pieces have to go! There's no way to win this otherwise!"

"I don't know what to do," Draco whispered, his face twisted with emotion.

"It's the third rank defence. It's easy." Neville reassured him as he wiped away his own tears. "You'll do it, won't you?"

Draco's mouth opened, but no words escaped for some time. He shook like a leaf under the pressure, looking around wildly at the places of the other pieces. Finally, he steadied his breathing and nodded. "I have to."

Neville gave them all a watery smile, his face pale. "Okay. I'm going to do it now. Don't waste any time once you win — you can't let Him get the stone." He paused. "Hermione, move to C2."

Hermione obeyed, her legs shaking.

The white bishop came down the board in a rush, running up to Neville and striking him across the face with a single stone arm. He collapsed onto the floor behind Harry like a dead weight — Hermione screamed, Harry felt the wind from the motion and refused to watch anymore — and was dragged off of the board.

Draco shoved the white bishop to the floor with a look of pure, cold anger, then kicked it to the side and took its spot behind Harry. The piece scurried off of the board with a limp.

The white rook moved over a single space.

"King to D3." Draco ordered. His face was unreadable. Harry followed without a word.

The moves now felt like a dance. No pieces were taken and the game refused to end, but nobody dared to speak. Every once in a while, Harry glanced at Neville to make sure that he was still breathing. He could never tell for sure.

After Draco took the last remaining pawn, he fired off moves faster than ever before. Harry and Draco mostly remained in their own spots; Hermione was the one sliding around the board with determination on her face.

"Rook to F6," said Draco. Hermione walked to her spot.

The white king moved over one square.

"Checkmate," he spat.

The white king took off his crown and tossed it to Harry, and the remaining pieces bowed before walking off of the board. They had won. The door was clear now.

Hermione ran to Neville's side as soon as the game ended and checked his vitals with shaking hands. After a few heart-stopping seconds, she sighed in relief.

"He's still breathing," she said. "I think he's just knocked out, but —" She looked at Harry and Draco with a grave expression. "I can’t just leave him here. I'm grabbing a broomstick from the other room and taking him to the infirmary. Take care of each other, alright?"

They both nodded. "Of course we will," said Harry. "Be careful."

Hermione's lip quivered. She gasped, then let out a sob and hugged them both tightly. "I wouldn't be able to live with myself if one of you ended up hurt, so don't you dare get injured!"

"Good luck," Draco mumbled into her hair. She let go of them and rubbed at her eyes.

"You too. Now go!"

Harry saw Hermione begin to gather Neville in her arms before he and Draco took off in a sprint into the next room. The door slammed behind them and the passageway passed in a blur of motion. Not quickly enough, they were at another door.

"Ready?" Harry asked.

Draco huffed. "Don't be stupid, Harry."

They opened the door.

A putrid, pervasive odour filled their nostrils, nearly causing Harry to vomit. On the floor was a massive troll, its eyes wide open and unseeing as it laid in a pool of its own blood. Harry fumbled with his robes and, with a sad thought of Neville and DADA class, casted the Bubblehead Charm on both of them, pushing Draco past the scene.

He pulled open the next door with a desperation to escape the troll's final resting place, inwardly cringing at the thought of what could come next.

But this room was candlelit and nonthreatening, with a table in the middle of the room and seven different bottles resting on it in a line. Harry absentmindedly cancelled the Bubblehead Charms. They stepped over the threshold and instantly, a purple fire sprang up behind them, while a black fire licked at the doorway in front of them.

He and Draco walked up to the table and Harry leaned over his shoulder to read a roll of paper that Draco had found.

* * *

 

Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,

Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,

One among us seven will let you move ahead,

Another will transport the drinker back instead,

Two among our number hold only nettle wine,

Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line.

Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,

To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:

First, however slyly the poison tries to hide

You will always find some on nettle wine’s left side;

Second, different are those who stand at either end,

But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;

Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,

Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;

Fourth, the second left and the second on the right

Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.

* * *

  _A riddle. Hermione would have loved this,_ Harry thought before he could stop himself. He focused carefully on the riddle.

He reread it multiple times, mentally crossing off the options until he was left with only one. At his side, Draco made a soft noise.

"It's the smallest one, right?" he asked.

Harry agreed and peered at its contents. The amount left was barely enough for a single swallow, he observed, swirling it inside of its container. Their group was quickly falling apart.

"You drink the one that will take you back," he said. "There's only enough in here for one of us."

"Are you daft?" Draco shouted. "I'm not leaving you to face Him on your own!"

"Grab one of the brooms and find Snape," Harry pushed. "You can come back with help and get me out of here."

"I don't want to leave you again!" he cried desperately. "Why am I always supposed to just let you run off and risk your life?"

"I'll be fine—"

"Don't you dare try to lie in order to make me feel better, Harry." Draco snapped. "That might work on Hermione or Neville, but it will  _never_ work on me. You want me to leave you to die!"

 _Want?_ Harry's shoulders sagged with despair and he pressed the bottle that would take them back — a round one, farthest to the right — into Draco's limp hands. He held it there with his own and they both stared at their harsh tremors.

"I don't want you to go," Harry said wetly, his throat constricted out of fear. "I don't want to die. But I... Everyone could die if we don't do this."

"I don't care about them!"

"Don't you?"

Draco hesitated, then shut his mouth and averted his eyes.

"Right. Me too. So we have to do this. And hey — I was lucky once, right? Maybe I'll get lucky again."

Draco closed his hands around the bottle and pulled away from Harry, his face still turned away. He opened it and swirled the liquid inside, then sighed a deep, worldweary kind of sigh and drank it. He shuddered, but didn't drop dead, so he was quite confident that they had chosen correctly. With heavy steps, Draco walked back towards the purple flames. Just in front of them, he turned back to Harry.

"I'm coming back for you," he said with conviction. "I mean that."

Harry, despite himself, felt comforted by it. His friends were really something else. "I know."

He turned into the flames and walked straight through them, out of sight. The room was impossibly large now that he was the only one in it; Harry thought of his friends and felt very alone. Selfishly, part of him wished that they had never learnt of the corridor at all, that he could be back in his bed like everyone else and waiting for finals to be over so he could laugh with his friends. He already felt so heavy with the weight of the innocence he had lost from this school year, and with the weight of keeping it all so secret. He didn't want to do this.

Closing his eyes briefly, Harry pushed it all down. He grabbed the smallest bottle once more and drained it without pause.

It felt like ice so cold that it burnt his skin from the inside. He walked forward with a slight stagger in his steps from it; he braced himself against the black flames licking at his sides without harming him, but clouding his vision until he could see nothing but  _nothing_ _,_ darkness purer than any dark room — and then he was on the other side, in the last chamber.

There was already someone there.

"Hello, Harry."

It wasn't Voldemort.

"I've been waiting for you."

It was Professor Quirrell.


End file.
